


Charmed Life

by Fyre



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Complete
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-06-23
Updated: 2012-08-17
Packaged: 2017-11-08 09:16:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 85
Words: 95,300
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/441627
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fyre/pseuds/Fyre
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Regina toyed with the lives and memories of the people of Storybrooke, she was especially careful with the people who had been her bane in the the Enchanted Forest</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I just got to pondering about relationships in Storybrooke. No one seemed to have one, not really. Everyone was single and miserable, but really, there are much better ways to mess with people. Maybe I would just be a more efficient Evil Queen than Regina ;)

“Emma.”

The blonde woman in front of him turned. Cameron Gold managed to school his expression enough to smile. He felt the pressure of memories building, ready to break on him, he remembered exactly why: the curse, the spell, twenty-eight years of waiting.

Granny Lucas handed him the money, as usual. Ruby Lucas eyed him with that wolfish expression she always wore, like she either wanted to screw him or tear his throat out. 

And Emma, this stranger, this blonde woman who was so very familiar looked back at him with a smile.

“You enjoy your stay,” he said, and withdrew.

He got four paces down the path before the first memories broke through.

Rumpelstiltskin. The Dark curse. The spell. True love.

He walked blindly through the town that he owned, as who he was in Storybrooke was pushed aside in the face of who he truly was. His head was throbbing with it, and once, twice, he had to stop dead, catch his breath.

He wasn’t Mr Gold. He knew that now. He was Rumpelstiltskin of the forest, the Dark One, Master of the Dark Castle. He wasn’t a pawnbroker in a dull, bleak little town in Maine. He definitely wasn’t a man who would choose to live in the house he was approaching.

The light was on in the window, and he stared up at it.

He was Rumpelstiltskin. Widower. Reckless father. Broken-hearted fool

He was not Mr Gold.

He made his way up the stairs slowly.

It should have been simple to step through the door, and smile, and act as if he was Gold as he always had been, but that wouldn’t work. His memories as Gold were too strong. He could remember far too many nights. He could remember so many days. He could remember the hostile, suspicious looks.

He opened the door, stepped through. He could smell the rich scent of stew, and closed his hand tight around his cane. 

“Is that you?”

Rumpelstiltskin was a coward then. He felt he had every right to be a coward now.

His wife came through from the kitchen, wiping her hands on a dishcloth. She was smiling. “I thought I heard you come in,” she said, walking over to kiss him on the cheek. “You’re just in time for dinner.”

Rumpelstiltskin stared at her, as if he was seeing her for the first time. She was the woman he had been married to by enchantment for almost thee decades. He remembered their wedding, when she defied expectation and married the most feared man in town. 

It never happened, but he remembered it clearly. 

He remembered the simple, white-iced chocolate cake she insisted on. He remembered the button-down, knee-length dress. He remembered her slipping a simple white rose in his buttonhole, smiling at him as she did so. He remembered their wedding night, when she had blushed awkwardly, and he had made a fool of himself by finishing as if it was his first time, barely even touching her.

He remembered dozens of nights thereafter, her tears when it seemed she would never conceive, their arguments and the inevitable make-ups. He had never loved her, yet his memories as Cameron Gold, pawnbroker and general terror of Storybrooke, pounded against his mind telling him she was his wife and that he loved her.

There had to be a root of affection, something that Regina had manipulated, and he knew that in the Forest, there were only a handful of people he actually cared about, enough to think on them as the curse shattered the world. 

She looked back at him, frowning in concern. “Are you all right, Cameron?”

“I’m fine,” he lied, smiling and touching her arm lightly. “I’ll freshen up. Give me five minutes?”

In the end, it was ten.

He braced his hands on the edge of the bathroom sink, breathed deeply and hard. She didn’t know. She couldn’t know. And he did. He could remember who she truly was. He could remember who she was to him, and more importantly, he could remember who she wasn’t.

He could not continue as before, that much was certain, but with the tangle of memories of who he had believed himself to be for nearly thirty years, he couldn’t bring himself to hurt her either. The curse had already done enough to ruin her happiness. The least he could do was maintain the charade until the curse broke, and it would be soon.

After all, that familiar face in Granny’s inn was none other than his wife’s long-lost daughter.

Though it was Rumpelstiltskin who dashed water on his face above the sink, it was Cameron Gold who lifted his head and stared at himself in the mirror.

The charade would go on.

The curse would break.

And in the end, if he was lucky, he would never have to see Snow White again.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was meant to be a one-shot, and it kind of... expanded.

Mary Margaret Gold was concerned.

The night before, her husband had come home late from the shop. She always tried to think of it simply as the shop. It made it easier than thinking about the fact that he was the last refuge of the desperate. It wasn’t taking advantage, not really. They came to him. He never needed to seek anyone out. They always came to him.

All the same, he came home late, looking a lot paler than usual.

He insisted it was nothing, but even over dinner, he didn’t ask how her days was, and that was definitely a sign that something was wrong. As much as everyone else in town considered him a monster, they didn’t see what she saw in him. She knew there was the good there, and had known it ever since they first met. 

People said the fact she was drunk out of her mind on their first encounter was a sign of things to come, but when you’re nursing a bad break-up, the last thing you want is to do it sober. No one else stopped by to see that she was okay. No one but him. He lamented about the foolishness of love. She could remember him waxing lyrical about love being poison.

Turned out, he changed his mind somewhere along the line.

It only got worse after dinner, when they went to bed.

There was no denying that she liked to curl up against her husband. It was almost as if she needed to be sure he was there beside her throughout the night. Sometimes, she dreamed he was taller, big enough to wrap around her like a security blanket, but when she woke, he was just him: slim, lean, with barely inches on her. 

This time, he turned on his side, facing away from her.

She knew his preferred position was to sleep on his back. It stopped his leg from cramping up too badly. 

“Cameron?” She touched his shoulder. “Are you all right?”

“Tired,” he muttered, tension radiating from him. 

She shifted closer to wrap an arm around him from behind and pressed a kiss to his shoulder through his pyjamas. For once, he’d gone for the long-sleeved, long-legged full pyjamas that she’d given him for Christmas one year, instead of just his boxer shorts. She didn’t miss the way he flinched, as if she’d pressed a finger against a bruise. “You don’t usually get this wound up when you’re tired.”

She felt one of his knotted fists unwind to pat her hand. “Business matters, dearie. Nothing for you to worry about.” He tugged at her wrist. “I might get some painkillers. My leg isn’t feeling too good.”

“I could…”

“No.” He cut her off, already pushing back the blankets. “You have work early tomorrow. I’ll get myself a warm drink and join you shortly.”

She leaned up on her arm, watching him rise stiffly. “You’re sure you’re all right?”

He looked at her, and for a moment, looked much older than his four and a half decades. “I am,” he murmured. His mouth curled up in a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Much to think about, dear. You get some rest.”

Reluctantly, she drew the blankets back around her and nestled against the pillow. The tick of the clock should have been soothing, but all it did was remind her that he wasn’t there. She must have fallen asleep, because sunlight woke her. 

The bed was empty beside her, and must have remained so for the rest of the night.

Cameron had left a brief note, explaining that he needed to get to the shop for a collection, and he would probably not be back until late, so not to wait up. Everything about it made her worry. There weren’t usually collections at the shop. When he worked late, he usually gave her a blow by blow account of the latest piece of folly he had been dealing with.

Mary Margaret packed up her lunch into her lunchbox. 

Rather than spending a lonely breakfast wondering what was going on, she decided to go down to the diner instead. 

At least there, she could talk to Ruby or Granny and pretend like there weren’t any problems. There weren’t. Not really. But she hated it when he kept secrets or tried to act like she didn’t know he could be a ruthless man. It wasn’t that she was naïve. It was simply that she saw a side of him that other people overlooked.

It was only when she was halfway through the living room that she noticed the door of the china cabinet was ajar. That struck her as odd, because it was usually securely locked, so she went over to close it up again. 

There was a fine patina of dust on all of the dishes inside. They never used them, after all. It wasn’t like they entertained very often. Cameron wasn’t really a people person, and she only had a few friends who certainly didn’t like to visit in case her husband was home.

Only one object was clean, and that caught her eye, made her frown.

It was a teacup, a solitary cup without any twins or a set to go with.

It was polished clean and had been set back just shy of the perfect ring of dust, where it had previously rested. Cameron must have taken it out for some reason, though she couldn’t imagine why. She put it back down and closed the door.

Maybe later, he would tell her why he had left her in bed without any explanation and spent the night cleaning a chipped cup.


	3. Chapter 3

Rumpelstiltskin knew the Dark Curse would come at a price. 

While Regina had paid the price in blood, it was his own soul twisted up in the letters of the curse. All magic came at a cost, after all. He had assumed it would have been some manner of indignity, which was why his last deal in the forest had been so vital. 

Instead, it had defiled the memory of the one person he held as dear as his son.

He remembered now. He had always remembered dark hair and pale skin and bright, clear eyes. A kiss that Cameron Gold always believed was his first with Mary Margaret was nothing of the kind. It belonged to someone much more important.

When Snow… no, Mary Margaret. He couldn’t see Snow White in that sweet and harmless little mouse. When Mary Margaret nestled against him the previous night, when she put her arms around him, all he could recall was the first and only woman to do that in the hundreds of years before the curse.

It was too much to stand, resting in the arms of a lie, letting her face continue to blot out the one he truly loved. He knew he could remember her, he knew he could, but when he tried to think of her, the first face that came to mind wasn’t hers. The hair was too black, the eyes not blue enough, and it wasn’t her.

It drove him from the bed, downstairs, away from the woman who was not her, and that was when he saw it in the cabinet where he kept all the best china. The cup. A simple, nondescript little white cup with a flower on the side and a chip in the rim. 

Cameron Gold was forgotten.

Rumpelstiltskin’s hands shook so much he could barely open the cabinet, and he folded down into the nearest chair, cradling the cup. She died. The words came back to him. He remembered the smile, the laughter, the directness, the great heart. She died. She died, and for years, his memory of her had been Regina’s plaything.

She died.

Because of Regina, because of his own fear, she died. 

He used his sleeve to gently clean the cup, the chip, the delicate handle. If tears fell, he ignored them, all of his attention on the fragile reminder of a brief and happy time, which had been twisted around and used against him. 

He returned the cup to the cabinet and sat silently in the dark.

There would be reminders of Bae, no doubt, but that was one secret that Regina had never uncovered. She knew about Belle. She had used that. Bae, though. Bae was his great secret, and now, Bae was the only thing that was safe when Regina ransacked his mind, and turned his emotions about, making him dance like a puppet with her hated step-daughter.

It was the curse and her pettiness that made it so, but it didn’t make it any easier to stomach.

The memories might have been cultivated and planted, but that did not change the fact that Cameron and Mary Margaret Gold were man and wife, had been man and wife. They had lived and loved and spent what felt like forever together. Even if he remembered who he was, that couldn’t take away the fact that they had lived many of those memories, even if they were living them in a loop.

Rumpelstiltskin felt drained, but he knew he could not bask in it.

Regina had forced them all into this situation, and now the Saviour was in town, things would start to change. He would have to ensure that they picked up speed too. He would have to be find out whether Snow White’s Charming still lived. He would have to find some way to dissuade his wife from touching him. He would have to maintain the illusion that he was still Cameron Gold.

He returned to the bedroom.

Mary Margaret was asleep. She always slept soundly, even when he limped about, leaning on his cane. It was useful to have such memories. He managed to dress without rousing her, and left her a note, slipping out into the darkness of Storybrooke’s early morning. 

His first port of call was his shop, as the first rays of morning crept over the town.

The den of trinkets was like a much reduced version of the Dark Castle, and now that he looked with new - no, old - eyes, he could remember a thousand and one stories that went with everything that surrounded him. It looked like some of Regina’s own treasures had drifted into this secret, dark, mysterious place. 

He wracked his memories, finding deals from this world - mundane, trite and money-ready as they were - and slipping them neatly into place beside deals from the old world. Some things, it seemed, never changed. 

And some things, he realised, had gone completely unnoticed.

Regina must have walked the floor a hundred times, but she had never noticed the important things, objects that Cameron Gold had put in plain sight, in pride of place. 

His heart thundered at the sight of a hand-stitched leather ball on a stand, a child’s cloak hung by the door, a clumsily carved toy rabbit inexplicably under the glass of the counter, a dozen different objects, every one of which screamed his son’s name at him. 

Somewhere, beneath the twisting corruption of the curse, some little part of him remembered what was important.

Rumpelstiltskin reached out and touched the nearest object, the small leather ball.

“I’m coming, Bae,” he whispered.


	4. Chapter 4

Mary Margaret's morning had improved considerably.

Granny - seeing that she was feeling down - had treated her to waffles with syrup for no extra charge. Usually, people took pity on her, assuming she had been tricked into marrying Cameron. They had long since stopped believing she was a gold-digger. Her husband was just as careful with his finances after he married her as before, so there was nothing in it for her. That was when the pity started. They didn't know Cameron could be a sweet, kind man when he chose to be, usually only behind closed doors.

For once, though, Granny's generosity was just out of kindness. 

"Chin up," she said, as she gathered Mary Margaret's empty plate and cup up. "Things are looking up around here. We even have visitors!"

Mary Margaret smiled. She had briefly encountered the newest arrival in town. "Henry's mother stopped by?" she guessed. 

Granny's eyes widened. Apparently, that piece of news hadn't spread through the grapevine. No doubt word would be out in town within hours now. 

Mary Margaret blushed, knowing she probably should have kept that piece of gossip to herself. The Mayor had hauled the unfortunate Emma Swan into her classroom the day before, on a hunt for the errant Henry. As abrasive and hostile as Regina was, the Emma was cautious and even friendly. Mary Margaret felt no guilt whatsoever about helping her, after Regina stormed off.

She couldn't put her finger on what it was about Emma, but there was something that felt safe about her, reliable, familiar.

Gathering up her bags, she headed in the direction of the school. She liked to be there early anyway, and Cameron's absence from breakfast meant she had time to prepare the classroom before the school buses even started to arrive.

She loved teaching. She loved the kids too. Some of them could be troublemakers, and some of them could be little angels. It took the edge off the fact she and Cameron had tried for a baby, only to be told by doctors that it was unlikely they would even conceive naturally. At least, she always thought, she would have her kids in her class.

She had collected up information of other options, of course: IVF, surrogacy, adoption.

In the end, Cameron had walked out into the night. He returned hours later, leaning heavily on his cane, barely sober enough to get a word out and told her that he didn't want to think about it anymore, something about not being able to lose it all again. 

When he sobered up and she asked what he meant, he couldn't or wouldn't say. His past was something he never brought up, not ever, and she knew better than to press for information. She sometimes caught him sitting, staring into nothing, and knew there was so much to her husband that she never could understand.

He would have been a wonderful father, she knew, but if the thought of it distressed him so much, she knew she could wait, not push for more.

That seemed like an eternity ago.

A child's voice rang out, distracting her from her thoughts.

"I knew you would believe me!"

She looked around and spotted Emma Swan on the edge of the school grounds. "I didn't say that I did!" she called after Henry. 

The Mayor's adopted son beamed. "Why else would you be here?"

The woman shook her head, as so many did in the face of Henry's enthusiasm.

Mary Margaret watched him run up the steps to the school. "It's good to see his smile back."

Emma looked startled. "I didn't do anything," she said awkwardly. 

Mary Margaret looked at the woman, wondering if she knew just how lucky she was. "You stayed." That begged a whole new question. “Does the Mayor still know you’re here?”

“Oh, she knows,” Emma said with a grimace. “What is her deal? She’s not a great people person. How did she get elected?”

Mary Margaret offered a helpless smile. “She’s been Mayor as long as I can remember. No one’s ever been brave enough to run against her. She inspires quite a bit of…” She drew a breath, thinking of the Mayor’s forbidding looks, and the silent threat that seemed to hang over her. “Well… fear. I think I only made it worse by giving Henry that book.” She sighed. “Now he thinks she’s an evil queen.”

Emma looked at her curiously. “Who does he think you are?”

Mary Margaret felt herself blush and laughed self-consciously. "It's silly," she said, remembering when he told her his theory. 

Emma laughed too. “I just got five minutes of silly. Lay it on me.”

"Snow White." The woman stared at her and she laughed self-consciously. It was ridiculous that he could think her a Princess, that much was obvious. "Who does he think you are?"

Emma shook her head. "I'm not in the book," she said. She smiled quickly. There was something so familiar about her expression. "I better let you go. Pupils to teach."

"Oh! Yes!" Mary Margaret laughed. "If only you could be paid to socialise." She held out a hand. "It was very nice to meet you properly."

Emma smiled, clasped her hand warmly. "You too. See you around?"

Mary Margaret nodded. It would be nice to have someone around who didn't look at her and immediately see her husband's shadow looming over her shoulder. As much as she loved Cameron, sometimes it felt she was less Mary Margaret and more Mrs Gold. 

"I'd like that," she said.


	5. Chapter 5

Rumpelstiltskin considered himself a keen observer.

He could see the points where the curse had twisted the world and twisted the people in it. Many of them were just a sidestep away from their own happy endings. Others, like himself and Snow White, had clearly been a long-term pet project for Regina. She must have really wanted to hurt them.

The fact she had made sure they would be happy together was a particularly bitter touch. Using their own memories of happiness against them, taking what they had felt for others and cracking it apart, to fit into her own warped idea of vengeance. 

Even if the curse was broken, those memories would remain.

The rest of the town continued on, oblivious.

He left his shop as people set about their day. Though he prefered to be in his haven, there was a world out there he had to refamiliarise himself with. He knew their faces, and now, he had to match their names in the old world with their names and tales in the new. 

The cricket was a man once more, though no less conscientious. Gepetto was a woodworker, though Rumpelstiltskin noticed that his puppet-child was nowhere to be seen. The fairies - heartless, frigid witches that they were - were appropriately nuns. The wolf and her grandmother were still together, though at one another's throats as they never had been. The genie, the mirror, still reflecting Regina's delusions on the world.

And of course, there was the Mayor herself presiding over all of it, with a smile that suddenly took on so much more meaning. She ruled over the town alone, with a rod of iron in a silken sheath, and the only thing that made her human was the boy she had adopted. 

Cameron Gold had never wondered at her desire for a child. Cameron Gold carried a smothered guilt over a lost child that he never understood. Regina had not planted that memory, but there was enough of Rumpelstiltskin in the man to remember it. Bae's treasures in the shop testified to that. He wished to be a father, but could not bear the thought of the loss, and so could not fault Regina for choosing to adopt.

Rumpelstiltskin remembered the forest, remembered the thing she loved most, remembered a name that had seemed inconsequential at the time, when the child was delivered to her, the child she cared for with the same single-minded intensity that she devoted to vengeance.

The thought of her father brought back memories that both were and weren't his. 

Before they were married, he had accompanied Mary Margaret to her father's grave in Storybrooke's cemetery. Row upon row of polished stones, emerging from the grass like blunt and gapped teeth. He had never had cause to go there as Gold. He had no family in Storybrooke, no friends, no loved ones until Mary Margaret stumbled into his life.

It felt like hooks had sunk into his flesh.

If all those who had died in the forest were remembered in Storybrooke's graveyard, there was a name that had to be there. Even if he had the will to keep himself away, his feet carried him there. His cane was gripped so tightly his palm ached, and he walked row after row after row.

Most of the graves were neat, kept on order by a tall, slender young man who Rumpelstiltskin wished he did not recognise. No doubt he was named Reaper or something of the kind. One or two of the tombs were marked with flowers. Others had candles, long-since burned out. The names were not quite familiar, but close enough that he could imagine their owners.

Leonard Blanchard. Alison Hatter. Edward Boyd.

Name after name ran through his mind.

Face after face.

He let his eyes flick over each grave in passing. 

He remembered Sir Maurice's name in this world, one of his many debtors, and when he saw the grave marker, he felt as if his heart had clenched in his chest. To make matters worse, there was a rusted circle screwed onto the stone with a faded, water-stained photograph tucked into it.

He always believed he would never forget her features, but now when he thought of her, Regina had bled Snow White's features into his memories. Now her cheeks weren't so dimpled. Now her eyes weren't so blue. Now her hair was black rather than chestnut. 

He went down on one knee, reaching out to touch the frame, brushing moss from it.

The face within was little more than a pale circle surrounded by dark curls, the details faded by the rain.

It no more showed her features than his memory would.

It would be a simple thing to go to French's house while the man was elsewhere, and take one of his photographs of her, but he had to think logically, practically. He could no more help her than he could undo the curse himself.

If Regina knew his intentions, if she saw him seeking tokens to remind him of the one he lost, she would know he had broken from her control, and would do her utmost to keep the curse in place, and then he would lose Bae permanently too.

He touched his fingers to his lips, then pressed them to the name carved on the stone. It was no more her name than his was Gold, but it was the closest he could come to kissing her again. "I won't forget you," he promised quietly.

Rumpelstiltskin had only ever loved two people in his whole pitifully long life. He had lost one already. He was not about to let the other slip through his fingers again.


	6. Chapter 6

The day had taken a peculiar turn.

As much as Cameron seemed to be occupied, Mary Margaret knew she had to tell him what had happened, not least because several hundred dollars vanishing from their shared account might worry him. As soon as school finished, she headed for his shop.

Normally, she didn't venture there, for the simple reason it was so cluttered up with sad remnants of other people's lives that she felt uncomfortable. How he could stand it, she didn't know. 

The bell above the door jangled.

Her husband was at the counter, bent over the books, a pen in his hand. He looked up, surprise crossing his face, and set the pen down. She could count the times she had visited his shop on one hand, so his expression wasn't unexpected. 

"Mary Margaret?" he said. "What are you doing here, dearie?"

She tried not to look around too closely at all the objects stacked here and there in organised chaos. "I thought you ought to know I've had to take several hundred dollars out of the account," she said, approaching him and the counter. She gave him a quick smile. "It hasn't just walked out."

He looked at her in puzzlement. "Several hundred dollars?" he asked. "You? When you wouldn't even let me buy you that pashmina you liked so much."

Mary Margaret blushed. Her husband was careful with their incomings and outgoings, but she was even more careful when it came to little luxuries. She wasn't one for being spoiled with fancy things, a simple bunch of hand-picked flowers much more personal than the silks and jewels he had often offered her.

"I wanted to help Henry," she said. "You've heard his birth mother is in town?"

An odd expression crossed his face. "A blonde?" he asked. "Emma or Gemma or something of the kind?"

It was her turn to look surprised. "You've met her?"

"I ran into her at Granny's," he said. He closed over one of his books. "I didn't catch anything else about her, apart from her name." He offered one of his sparing smiles. "So you met her, did you? What did you think?"

Mary Margaret propped her arms on the counter. "She seems like a good person," she said. "Very tough, but she managed to get Henry smiling again. He went looking for her, apparently."

Cameron's lips twitched. "I did wonder what might have brought her here."

"Which reminds me," Mary Margaret added sheepishly, "he stole my credit card to trace her. I haven't had the bill in yet, but I have a feeling it might be quite steep."

To her surprise, her husband only laughed. "Well, well," he said. "He's learned some tricks from his mother after all." His eyes glinted with mirth. "Did our gracious Mayor make any noises about recompensing us for her son's theft?"

Mary Margaret pulled a face. "I think we'd have more luck finding hens teeth."

"We can cross that bridge when we reach it," he said, bracing his hands against the edge of the counter. "You said you had splashed out. A little treat for Henry and his birth-mother, was it?"

Mary Margaret shook her head. "I bailed her. She'll pay me back, but she didn't have anything to hand."

Cameron's eyebrows rose. "On the DUI charge?"

She was unsurprised that he had heard about it. No doubt everyone in town had seen The Mirror's report about the woman's accident. "On the robbery with menaces charge," she replied. "She allegedly threatened Dr Hopper and stole his files on Henry."

"Robbery..." Cameron raised his eyes ceilingwards. "Regina?"

"Emma Swan doesn't seem the type to threaten Archie," Mary Margaret admitted. "Regina isn't happy that she's here. It's the only obvious conclusion."

"And so, you bailed her."

She met his eyes. "It felt like the right thing to do."

He smiled, and it softened his features. It was the expression she liked on him, but normally, she only ever saw it in the privacy of their own home. "I'll trust your judgement, then," he said. "Will this Miss Swan be staying?"

"I hope so," she said, "for Henry's sake." She sighed. "I know Regina tries to be a good mother, but you know what she's like. She thinks raising a child is the same as running a council, and that her vote is the deciding one. Emma makes him smile."

Cameron hesitated, his eyes flicking from her face to her crossed arms on the counter. He reached out and lightly patted her hand. "I know you would have been a wonderful mother," he said quietly. "I can imagine a daughter, just like you."

Mary Margaret's eyes pricked with tears. It was rare for him to bring up the one fly in the ointment of their otherwise good lives. She blinked hard, and smiled quickly. "We still have time," she said, turning her hand to squeeze his quickly. 

"Time," he agreed, then withdrew his hand and looked down at his books. "I hate to have to chase you off, dearie, but..."

"You have work," she said with a quick nod. "Will you be home for dinner?"

He hesitated again, and she could feel the gulf opening between them again. "Perhaps, invite Miss Swan?" he suggested. "I can't guarantee I will be home, but that way, you would have company at least?"

Mary Margaret straightened up from the counter. "I might do that," she said with a small, rueful smile. "And I'll put some aside for you." She reached across the counter to squeeze his hand. "You can tell me what's bothering you, Cam. You know I'll listen."

For a moment, he just looked at her, something strange and sad in his expression. "I know," he said. "You deserve a better husband."

"Well, I don't want a better husband," she said. "I have you."

He looked down at their linked hands, their matching wedding bands gleaming in the dim light. "Yes," he said quietly. "You do."


	7. Chapter 7

Gossip in Storybrooke was like a wildfire in a dry forest.

It seemed that Emma Swan was every bit the firebrand that her mother had been before the curse. Like Snow White, the newest Princess in Storybrooke had been dealt enough hard knocks to make her tough, but where her mother had wielded a sword, Emma chose a chainsaw. 

Rumpelstiltskin liked her already.

It had been too long since anyone had the knowledge or the nerve to go against Regina, and to do it in such a direct way sat well with Rumpelstiltskin's own dramatic tendencies.

He saw the woman in the street when he emerged from his shop, walking side by side with Henry, the Mayor's boy. There was no mistaking the genetics. He could see Snow White in their matching smiles and stubbornness, her Prince in the way they carried themselves. Those children, he knew, were born to be heroes.

It was courting disaster, but he had to see for himself how their gracious Mayor was taking matters. That she had already tried to have Miss Swan framed for theft suggested she was not entirely happy about the newest arrival. 

It amused him now, thinking on how Regina had embraced a self-fulfilling prophecy so readily: he warned her the curse would be broken, and yet, she still cast it. Maybe she had realised who Emma Swan really was. Maybe she hadn't. In part, that was why he walked into her garden and stood, silently watching, as she brushed shreds of torn wood from the sawn stump of her apple tree's branch.

“What a mess,” he murmured, finally approaching.

“Not for long,” she replied with a dismissive glance in his direction. “What can I do for you, Mr Gold?”

He searched his memories, and almost smiled. Cameron Gold had tolerated the Mayor and her influence, but he had never liked nor respected her. It just went to show that there were some things that even magic was too powerful to change. And yet, she had needed his skills and knowledge enough to come to him.

“I was just in the neighbourhood,” he said, walking closer to the tree and her. “Thought I’d pop by.” He watched her face, the smug smile hovering too neatly about her lips. “Lovely to see you in such high spirits.”

She laughed. “Well, it’s been a good day,” she said, dusting her hands together. “I just rid the town of an unwanted nuisance.”

“Emma Swan?” Gold paused at the tree, reaching up to the apples. “Really?”

“Yes,” Regina said, smiling, “I bet she’s halfway to Boston by now.”

"Oh, I wouldn’t bet that." He plucked an apple, turning it in his hands. "I just seen her strolling down the main street with your boy." He met her eyes, saw the panic, the fear, the fury. "Thick as thieves they looked." 

“What?” Ah. Fear. Doubt. Confusion. All useful. 

He smiled, just a little. "Perhaps you should have come to me." She narrowed her eyes and he cheerfully elaborated, “If Miss Swan is a problem you can’t fix, I’m only too happy to help.” He paused, then added, “For a price. Of course.”

"I’m not in the business of making deals with you anymore," she said, turning back to the tree.

Rumpelstiltskin gazed at her. "To which deal are you referring?" he murmured, remembering the last and most important deal he had made with her, years before. Whether it still held, he had no idea. This was a land with no magic. If that deal held, then there would be others, soon coming to fruition. His heart pounded in a wretched human beat. He didn't know if he was afraid that the magic wouldn't hold or that it would. 

She turned with a sharp look. "You know what deal."

He scanned through his memories as Gold. "Oh, right, yeah. The boy I procured for you." He hid a smile. "Henry. Did I ever tell you what a lovely name that was?" He plucked toyed with the apple, remembering a Queen, a price, her father. "However did you pick it?"

It seemed that wound was still open and pouring salt in it did little to help.

“Did you want her to come to town?” She turned on him. “You wanted this to happen, didn’t you? Your finding Henry wasn’t an accident, was it?”

“Whatever do you mean?” Rumpelstiltskin asked, smiling Gold’s trite smile.

“Where did you get him?”

Their eyes locked, and even if she had no magic, there was still blazing fury enough to quail a lesser man.

“Do you know something?” she asked, low and calm.

“I have no idea what you’re implying,” Rumpelstiltskin said. This was a game he had long mastered, even if it had been some years since he had practised. His mask was far superior to any she could ever muster.

“I think you do.” There was a ferocity in her gaze that spoke of contained terror. "Who is this woman, his mother, this Emma Swan?"

Rumpelstiltskin drew himself inward, letting Cameron Gold to the fore. He was still a cynical, bitter man, but without the knowledge of who Regina was and why he loathed her. The last thing he needed now was the Queen suspecting that he knew anything. He would become an enemy again, instead of a lackey, and if he meant to help the Saviour, the last thing he needed was Regina breathing down his neck. 

He shrugged, smiled placidly. "I have no idea," he said. "I had never even heard of Emma Swan until I ran into at Granny's last night."

"Never heard of her?" Regina stepped closer to him. "You arranged the adoption."

"The closed adoption," he reminded her. "There were no names. Not until you had your Henry. If you think I could find out not only who the mother was but somehow prompt your son go looking for her..." He laughed, shaking his head. "You give me far too much credit. Madam Mayor."

Regina looked at him, her dark eyes narrowed. "You know something," she said.

"I know that you've met someone who is as stubborn as you," he replied. He inclined his head in an approximation of a polite bow. "If you'll excuse me, my wife is expecting me for dinner." He started past her, but she stepped in front of him.

"What do you know?" she asked, fixing his eyes with hers. He could practically feel her reaching into his mind, to twist him into obedience and get the knowledge she needed.

"I don't know what you're talking about," he said, taking a deliberate bite of the apple he was holding. He chewed, meeting her gaze steadily. It was time to test how his deals had withstood the breaking of the world. "Please get out of my way."

She jolted as if he had thrown a bucket of cold water over her, then slunk aside, confusion rife on her face.

Rumpelstiltskin wanted to caper and whoop in exultation. It wasn't much power to hold, but it was enough. It was a weapon. A small one, one which must be used with care, but a weapon none the less. He walked past her, leaning heavily on the cane, and to add insult to injury, tossed the apple over his shoulder.

It was hardly the most extravagant declaration of war, but for now, it would do.


	8. Chapter 8

Mary Margaret was both pleased and surprised when Cameron arrived home much earlier than expected.

She had taken his advice and called Emma Swan to ask her if she’d like to come for dinner, and the casserole was barely out of the oven when the front door opened. Emma set down her wineglass, raising her eyebrows. “Your husband?”

Mary Margaret dabbed her lips with the napkin and rose. “It must be,” she said. “I’ll just see if he’ll be joining us.”

She had barely reached the kitchen door when Cameron opened it. He was smiling.

“You’re home early,” she said, then narrowed her eyes suspiciously at the gleam in his brown eyes. “What have you been up to?”

“Just took a stroll,” he said, stepping into the kitchen. “It’s quite refreshing to take in the evening air once in a while.” He nodded a greeting to the woman sitting at the table. “Miss Swan. I hope you’re well.”

“Not bad, thanks,” she said, tipping her glass. 

Mary Margaret helped her husband out of his jacket, and nudged him towards the table. “Sit down. I’ll get you a plate.” She smiled when he paused by the cabinet to fetch himself a placemat and cutlery.

She had no doubt Emma was sizing him up. 

There was something hardy about Emma Swan that she envied. The woman practically exuded capability. They had discussed her previous career, which sounded like it amounted to being a bounty hunter. Mary Margaret had been struck by the thought that it must be a very lonely existence, but Emma just shrugged, saying she had always been alone.

That, to Mary Margaret, sounded terrible.

“I’ve been hearing stories about your exploits since your arrival,” Cameron said, pouring himself a glass of wine. “It sounds like you’ve made quite an impression.”

Emma snorted. “On the sign, for sure,” she said. “I’d say don’t believe everything you read.”

“If I may speak freely,” Cameron replied, looking up with a brief smile for Mary Margaret as she set a plate down in front of him, “I wouldn’t believe anything that appears in the Mirror. It tends to be prone to bias.”

Emma was leaning back in her chair, studying him. “A writer monkey, then? Don’t have to ask who the organ grinder is.”

Mary Margaret shook her head fondly as Cameron raised a glass in salute. “Cameron has never been an admirer of the Mayor,” she said.

He laughed quietly. “What can I say?” he said, taking a sip of his wine. “I have something against people who feel that a town should be their own personal playground. No one should have that much power over people.”

“Unlike you?” Emma said, one arm propped on the back of her chair.

“Emma!” Mary Margaret felt her cheeks flush. It wasn’t that she was appalled that the woman would say such a thing, but more than everyone in town knew it was true. The speed at which Emma had picked up on local whispers was a little disconcerting.

“Touché,” Cameron said. He was actually smiling. “I expect a young lady in red and her grandmother have been telling tales.”

“Just a little,” Emma agreed. “You ‘own’ the town?”

Mary Margaret’s cheeks were burning. “I think that’s a bit of an exaggeration,” she said self-consciously. “He owns a lot of property, so most people pay rent to him, and sometimes, he provides a little extra help when they need it.”

“Now, dear,” Cameron said gently, reaching across the table to pat her hand, “don’t lets pretend that I’m some kind of saintly philanthropist.” He picked up and buttered a slice of bread, then looked at Emma. “Some of the stories are true. Some are less so. If people need help and come to me, I will help them, but there’s always a price. In this day and age, a man can’t afford to be charitable.”

“The way they talked,” Emma said, picking up her fork again, “it’s as if you were the boogeyman or something.”

Cameron’s fork stopped halfway to his mouth, and he looked at her, then at Mary Margaret in amusement. “Do you hear that, dear?” he said. “You married the boogeyman. I did wonder why so many people were surprised.”

Mary Margaret made a face at him. “They just don’t know you,” she said, and it was the same argument she had used to defend him more times than she cared to count. None of them had picked her up when she was sitting in a heart-broken drunken heap in the gutter. He had, and had helped her forget what had hurt her to begin with. “And anyway, they come to you for help. You don’t make them.”

“Alas,” Cameron said, “as soon as they realise the price, they are inclined to forget that I’m not the one who made them take the deal.” He lifted his shoulders in a mild shrug. “One of the hazards of providing urgent services.”

“More fool them,” Emma said, between bites of lamb casserole. “Always read the fine print, or else you’re going to get screwed.”

Cameron raised his glass to each of them. “To intelligent people who actually read the fine print,” he said, his expression stone-cold serious, but his dark eyes were gleaming with some kind of mischief, “long may I avoid them.”

Mary Margaret couldn’t help notice that both she and Emma snorted at exactly the same time.


	9. Chapter 9

As the days went on, after the arrival of Emma Swan, Rumpelstiltskin found himself leaving his shop more frequently than Cameron Gold ever did. He liked to walk the streets in the evening, when it was quieter and people were making their way to their homes. There was so much to take in, in this new world, so many people to see and remember, and yet not one of them had been dealt as a twisted a fate as Mr and Mrs Gold. 

Regina’s malignity towards Snow White remained fixed on her, and he - as the only other person who seemed to have truly aggravated her - had been the only option when it came to binding her physically and emotionally to someone who wasn’t her beloved Charming. 

The Prince had to be out there, somewhere. 

The only reason he would not have been was if he was dead before the curse struck. From what Rumpelstiltskin could remember of the cemetery, there was no grave for the man, which could only mean he was alive, somewhere, separated from Snow White all over again.

Really, he thought, as he walked down the main street, it would have been so much simpler if mother and child had got to safety together, long before the curse hit. That was the plan. He didn’t know what had gone wrong, but he certainly never intended to be married to one part of his true love pair of choice and looking for the other.

Mother and child had been safely reunited. They had far too much in common already, even if they didn’t know it yet, and Rumpelstiltskin was pleased to see that Mary Margaret was as taken with the girl as the girl was with her own son. Ties that bind, he mused, can never be truly broken, not by the most terrible curse in the world. 

Some links had been strained, but they were still there, even now. The faces were the same, even if the stories weren’t quite right.

He recognised everyone, now that he was looking. He remembered thousands of deals, every one of them coming to him for help, wealth, success, all manner of meaningless things. He remembered the one deal he had broken. He remembered the one deal he had ended. Strange that those two were the most valuable deals of all. 

Halfway down the main street, he paused at the sight of a familiar yellow car. He could see two booted feet propped up against the window of the backseat. He frowned, approaching, and remembered that Granny had been complaining about the Mayor throwing city ordinances around, regarding guests.

It seemed Snow White’s daughter was every bit as hardy as the woman herself, sprawled in the backseat of her car, reading the Mirror.

Rumpelstiltskin lifted his cane and tapped at the glass.

Emma Swan shot up in the seat. He wondered at her constant state of fight or flight. There was something of her mother in it, but such a thing had to be cultivated by a life where it was a necessary trait. Bailbondswoman. Bounty hunter. There were skills she had to have, to make her way in the world in those roles.

Her expression changed at the sight of him, and she gave him a rueful smile as she opened the door and slid out of the car. “Hey.”

“That doesn’t look entirely comfortable,” he observed. “Did my ears deceive me or did the city ordinances mean you were turned out of Granny’s?”

Emma made a face. She looked so very like Mary Margaret when she was past anger, but still frustrated. “If she thinks that going without a bed is really going to be a trial, she has another thing coming,” she said. “I’ve slept in much worse places than the back of my car.”

Rumpelstiltskin’s lips twitched. “I’m not quite sure how I should take that, dear,” he said.

Emma rolled her eyes with a snort. “If you’re done teasing, maybe you can help me out here,” she said, holding up the newspaper. “I’ve been trying to find somewhere to stay, but it doesn’t look like there are any places to let at the moment. At all, even.” She gave him a hopeful smile. “You’re Mr Property. Do you know of anywhere?”

He set his cane back down on the ground, his hand curving over the handle. It would be the perfect time to offer a deal, to get the saviour to owe him, to have some little piece of leverage in the coming war. It would have been so easy to slip into the same old habits.

Everything would have been so much simpler if he didn’t want the girl to be on his side, if he didn’t want the curse broken, if he didn’t want some way to gently keep Mary Margaret at arm’s length.

“Unfortunately, all my properties are occupied,” he said in all honesty. As she had observed, there was no room in Storybrooke for a stranger. Her face fell and she looked back at the newspaper with a sigh of frustration. He hesitated, then added, “However, you may have noticed that Mary Margaret and I have a large house. There are several guest rooms.”

He didn’t know who was more surprised by the offer: him or her.

“Um. That’s kind of you,” she said, and really, she had no idea just how exceptional an offer it was. She looked self-consciously down at the paper, then back at him. “I don’t do well with others.” She looked strangely child-like, almost as if she wanted some kind of assurance that refusal was acceptable. “Thank you, though.”

He remembered another child, long ago, so determined, so brave, and yet, underneath it all, still not as self-assured as he tried to be. He remembered another woman, not a warrior like this one, but still both as brave and unsure.

“If you change your mind,” he said, opening the doors of his home to a stranger who was not really a stranger for the first time in decades, “the offer stands. No strings attached.”

Her smile strengthened. “Thank you,” she said. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

He offered her a brisk smile in return, then continued on his way, leaving her with her car, her paper and not much else.


	10. Chapter 10

Mary Margaret watched as another string of decorations were pinned in place.

Her class were helping her to decorate one of the wards she volunteered on, at the main hospital, to bring a bit of colour and cheerfulness to the otherwise drab wards. She was quite sure Doctor Whale only agreed to it because she smiled at him. He probably would have done the same for any other woman who asked.

She did a quick headcount, then frowned, walking quickly up the ward and searching for the missing one of the class.

There was a windowed private ward at the far end of the room, and Mary Margaret almost groaned aloud at the sight of Henry. He was sitting beside the bed of the man known only as John Doe, a thoughtful look on his face.

She walked up the ward quickly and opened the door. “Henry.” Henry looked up at her, startled, then beamed. She nodded back into the main ward. “We could use your help with the decorations,” she said.

“Is Mr Doe going to be okay, Mrs Gold?” he asked.

Mary Margaret smiled. “His name’s not John Doe, honey. That’s just what they call people when they don’t know who they are.”

Henry looked at her questioningly. “Do you know who he is?”

“Nope,” she said, walking into the room and approaching the bed. John Doe was as still as ever. “I just bring him flowers on my rounds.”

“What’s wrong with him?”

“I dunno,” she shrugged, looking down at the man. “He’s been like this as long as I’ve been volunteering.”

Henry looked at the man, then back at her. “Does he have any family or friends?”

She shook her head. “No one’s claimed him.”

There was a speculative look in Henry’s eye, and knowing him, she knew exactly where his mind was going. His book, his ideas, trying to figure out who John Doe might be. “So, he’s all alone?”

“Yeah,” Mary Margaret said, remembering what her life had been before Cameron. “It’s quite sad.”

Henry looked at the man and back again, smiling. “Are you sure you don’t know him?” he asked, as if she could tell which fairytale character he might have chosen for John Doe.

“Of course I’m sure,” she said. “C’mon. You shouldn’t be in here.” 

She ushered him out and closed the door behind them.

The exchange didn’t cross her mind again until Emma came knocking at her door, late that afternoon. Cameron was still at the shop, and she was quite happy to have some company for a while.

Emma sat at the kitchen table, one foot tucked under her, as Mary Margaret made some hot chocolate. “Henry told me about the coma patient at the hospital,” she said, accepting the mug with a grateful smile. 

Mary Margaret sat down too. “I could see he was thinking,” she admitted. “Does he have a theory about who our poor John Doe is?”

“Oh, yeah,” Emma said, wincing. “He has an idea.”

“Who?”

Emma looked at her over the rim of her hot chocolate. “Prince Charming,” she said, her eyes fixed on Mary Margaret’s, as if gauging her response.

Mary Margaret’s own mug stopped short of her lips and she frowned, setting it down on the table. “The Prince Charming?” she said, remembering Henry’s theories. “And if I’m Snow White, he’s meant to be…”

“Your true love,” Emma said, a hint of apology in her voice. 

“My true love?” Mary Margaret echoed, then laughed self-consciously. “Well, I don’t think Cameron’s going to take the news too well.” She picked up her mug and took a sip. “Really, he thinks he’s Prince Charming?”

Emma nodded ruefully. “Maybe because he can’t work out who your husband is?”

“Cameron?” Mary Margaret considered it. “Well, he’s no Prince Charming, is he?”

Emma laughed. “I didn’t want to say it,” she said. “I mean, he’s a nice guy, and you two are a great couple, but no. Definitely not Prince Charming material. I always figured Prince Charming would be taller.”

“And charming,” Mary Margaret agreed. “Cameron is more like Grumpy from the seven dwarves, especially first thing in the morning.”

Emma almost snorted hot chocolate down her vest. “God, that’s an image I didn’t need,” she said, shaking her head and laughing. “And if you’re Snow White, you’d need to have at least one dwarf, right?”

It was Mary Margaret’s turn to laugh. “I should call him Grumpy, just to see the look on his face,” she decided. “He’ll probably give me the ‘I’m much older and wiser than you, dearie’ look. He always does when he’s being teased.”

Emma took another sip of her hot chocolate. “Thing is, Henry thinks you’d be the one to wake John Doe up,” she said. “Snow White was woken up by Charming, so he thinks…”

Mary Margaret set down the cup. “I’m not kissing a stranger.”

“Whoa whoa whoa!” Emma said, raising a hand. “No, I wasn’t going to ask that. Henry thinks that if you read to him, read him the Prince Charming story, it’ll help him to remember, and it might be enough to wake him up.”

“And if it doesn’t work,” Mary Margaret murmured, seeing where she was going, “he’ll see that fairytales are just that. That there’s no such thing as love at first sight, or first kiss. He’ll see the reality.”

Emma nodded ruefully. “Something like that.”

Mary Margaret sighed. “Sadly, this plan is rather genius. We get him to the truth without hurting him.”

Emma smiled, reaching into her satchel. “I told him,” she said, pulling out Henry’s book, “that we will all meet for breakfast tomorrow at Granny’s, and you will give a full report.”

Mary Margaret looked down at the book. What harm could it do?


	11. Chapter 11

Rumpelstiltskin was reading a book on so-called Storybrooke history when his wife returned. It was an interesting piece of fiction, but also useful because it told him where many of the magic relics and ruins, buildings and objects, were found within the city limits.

He looked up when the front door swung inwards hard enough to knock against the coat-rack, then the hasty way Mary Margaret closed and locked it. She didn’t immediately come to the kitchen, where the light was still on, or even call out a greeting, which was unusual.

He heard the clink of glass on glass and liquid flowing, and frowned.

Mary Margaret didn’t drink. 

The only time he had ever seen her drink - if that was even a true memory - was one glass of champagne at their wedding. Before that, the only time she ever rejected sobriety had been the first night they met, when she all but fell off her barstool into his lap.

He set down the book and went to the kitchen door, opening it a crack. A slice of light cut across the living room, and Mary Margaret spun around, as if she were a thief caught in the act, a guilty look on her face.

Rumpelstiltskin frowned. “What’s wrong, dearie?”

She set down the glass she had just drained and rushed across the room towards him. She crashed into him, flinging her arms around him and kissing him. Rumpelstiltskin froze, then caught her by the arms, gently pushing her back.

“What brought this on?” he asked, looking at her searchingly. “You were at the hospital. Did something happen?”

She clutched at his upper arms, staring at him. “He woke up,” she said. “Cam, the coma patient. I was reading to him and he moved and grabbed my hand, and it’s crazy, but Henry said it would happen, and it can’t be happening…”

Rumpelstiltskin hesitated, then carefully embraced her. “Calm down, dearie, calm down,” he murmured. He patted her back awkwardly. It had been so long since he had needed to comfort someone, and he knew that even as Cameron Gold, that had carried over. “How about we sit down and you tell me exactly what happened?”

It took some negotiation, what with his cane knocked back into the kitchen, but in the end, they were sitting in the two armchairs, and Mary Margaret was cradling another glass of his scotch in her shaking hands. 

“It was Henry,” she explained haltingly. “We were at the hospital, doing the decorations this morning.”

He nodded. “I recall you mentioning them,” he said.

Mary Margaret took another drink. “There’s a patient, a John Doe. He’s been in a coma for as long as I’ve been helping there. Henry… was looking at him.” She raised her eyes to his, and to his dismay, they were filling with tears. “He thinks the man is Prince Charming, Cam. I only went to read to him because Emma said it would show Henry that the fairytales don’t work here.”

Rumpelstiltskin stared at her blankly. “Henry found Snow White’s Prince Charming?” he said. He remembered laughing, before his memories ever returned, about Henry’s book. One thing he had agreed on was that Mary Margaret was the fairest of them all. She had blushed as red as one of Regina’s apples.

It seemed the boy was much more efficient than he was, and the book was much more useful than it had first sounded.

“Cam, I only went because I thought it would help Henry,” she said, reaching out to clasp his hand, as if he might suspect her. “I didn’t think he would wake up! I wasn’t there because I thought I would find a true love or something stupid like that.”

He turned his hand to squeeze her fingers. “Of course you didn’t, dearie,” he said softly. “I know you were only trying to help the boy.” He offered her a quick, small smile. “But who knows? Maybe you do deserve a Prince Charming, rather than an old troll like me.”

“Cam,” she protested, sniffing softly. “You’re not a troll.”

He wrinkled his nose the way he knew amused her. “Are you sure about that, dearie? After all, maybe the reason he can’t find me in his books is because I lurked under the bridges in the fairytale world?”

Mary Margaret giggled wetly, setting her glass down on the coffee table. She rubbed her eyes. “I know it’s silly,” she said, looking at him. “I… I just didn’t think anything would happen, you know. At all. It was just meant to be reading and then nothing.”

Rumpelstiltskin gazed at her. If the man in the hospital was indeed Prince Charming, then things were about to get very complicated indeed. True love would always find a way, and if Mary Margaret and this coma man were indeed the match they always had been, he couldn’t help thinking Regina would be up in arms soon.

For that reason, Rumpelstiltskin was all the more determined to see Snow White and her Prince reunited, their daughter back with them, and their grandson the fairytale Prince he was destined to be. 

The sooner that happened, the sooner the curse would break, and the sooner he could be free and on his way to find his own family.

He had to see the book. He had to find out what Henry knew, and maybe that was a way to find a way into the curse’s loophole.

“I know it was only kindness,” he said quietly to the woman who was his wife. “Maybe we can go to the hospital tomorrow and see if there is anything we can do to help the man? After all, you’ve woken him up. It would be inconsiderate to leave him on his own.”

Mary Margaret blinked at him in surprise, then smiled weakly. “I’d like that,” she said. “I’d like it if you came with me too.”

Rumpelstiltskin smiled, but she wasn’t looking close enough to see it didn’t reach his eyes.


	12. Chapter 12

Mary Margaret was nursing a headache. 

She insisted it wasn't a hangover, but Cameron's lips twitched, and she knew he knew otherwise. All things considered, she felt a little foolish about her reaction the previous night. He hadn't teased her, for which she was grateful. It was all such a strange coincidence.

"You're sure you don't mind?" she asked him again. "I know the shop is usually a little busier on Saturdays."

He smiled slightly, his eyes on the road. "If I minded, I wouldn't have offered to drive you all there," he said. "And I'm quite sure the shop can survive one hour of closure." He looked at her, eyes glinting. "You might have to convince Henry that I don't intend to run us all off the road into a ravine, though."

She rolled her eyes. "You know his mother has just been telling him stories," she said, as they pulled up outside of Granny's. "I've met far scarier things than you in Storybrooke."

He chuckled at that. "That's just because I like you, dearie," he said. "I can promise you that if I didn't, you would see how frightening I can be." She pulled a face at him and he smirked, making a shooing gesture with a hand. "Go and fetch the children for our little trip. I'll wait here."

She left the book in the car and skipped out, hurrying up the steps. Henry and Emma were already waiting in a booth, and Emma gave her a quick smile. No doubt, Mary Margaret thought, she expected it to be nothing new. "So?" she asked.

Mary Margaret looked from her to Henry and back. "He woke up."

Emma's mouth dropped open.

"I knew it!" Henry exclaimed in delight.

"He woke up?" Emma echoed, sounding as stunned as Mary Margaret had felt the night before.

"Well, not woke-up woke up, but he grabbed my hand," Mary Margaret clarified. She couldn't say why, but she could feel her cheeks reddening, which was ridiculous. It was that same feeling that she'd had when the man had grasped her hand. "Cameron's offered to take me back to see if reading some more might help." She shot Emma a tentative smile. "It's only a good thing if he wakes up, right?"

"Mr Gold is going with you?" Henry said, his expression falling.

"He is Mrs Gold's husband," Emma said to him, then looked at Mary Margaret with a frown. "Are you sure it's a good idea?"

"Emma, the man's been in a coma as long as I've been going there," Mary Margaret said. "If I've managed to make a connection, if I can help him wake up, surely it doesn't matter who he is?"

Emma looked at her, then at Henry. "I guess," she said, sliding out of her seat. "I'll go and pay up."

Henry got up too, but he caught Mary Margaret's hand. "Does Mr Gold have to come?" he asked plaintively.

Mary Margaret lifted her other hand to smooth his hair. "I know you don't like him very much, Henry, but he's not so bad," she said. 

"But he's not your true love! John Doe is!" 

He sounded so distressed that she put he arm around him, giving him a comforting squeeze. "Sometimes, true love doesn't come along when you expect it," she said. "Maybe Cam, Mr Gold, isn't my true love, but he's still my husband and I'm still happy with him. That's not so bad, is it?"

He shrugged. "I guess," he said, then looked up at her. "But he's not nice. Everyone says it. My mom says that he doesn't care about anything."

"Not even me?" she said. Henry's face redded, and she gave him a small, rueful smile. "I don't listen to what people say," she said. "Not everybody can see what's right in front of them. Most people don't look past his reputation. I look and I listen and I make up my own mind."

He looked thoughtful. "Like me and my book."

She nodded with a smile. "Like your book," she agreed. She picked up his rucksack. "We can go and wait in the car. Emma'll catch up." He trotted out to the car beside her, though she saw him hesitate before he climbed into the back seat, behind the passenger seat. He picked up the book from the seat, setting it across his lap.

"Good morning, Henry," Cameron said, turning in his seat. "How are you?"

She saw the boy smile nervously in the rearview mirror. "I'm good."

Cameron's expression was softer than usual, and she couldn't help being grateful for him trying to put the boy at his ease. "I hear you've got quite a book there," he said. He made an extravagant gesture with one hand. "Fairytales and the magic and once upon a time."

Henry shrugged. "It's just a book."

Cameron leaned between the seats and said in a conspiratorial whisper, "Oh, I very much doubt that." Henry's eyes widened, his mouth opening in a circle of surprise.

Mary Margaret swatted her husband on the shoulder. "Behave," she said.

He chuckled, turning back around in his seat as Emma climbed into the car. "If you say so, dearie." He nodded at the rearview mirror. "Miss Swan."

"Gold." Emma sprawled into the seat behind Cameron. "Taking us to see a sick man in hospital? Have you had an attack of mr-nice-guy-itis?"

"A little flicker," he said, turning the key in the ignition. "I thought I ought to use it, before it becomes extinct."

Mary Margaret, Emma, and Henry all snorted in unison.


	13. Chapter 13

Rumpelstiltskin was unsurprised when they walked into a scene of chaos at the hospital. 

He waited by the door as Henry, Emma and Mary Margaret rushed towards the heart of the mess. The Sheriff was there, and beyond him, Rumpelstiltskin was unsurprised to see the Queen standing by a vacant bed. She wore a mask of careful concern, which was almost nauseating.

He didn't need to venture closer to hear what was being said.

The mysterious patient, Henry's Prince Charming, this John Doe was missing. There was no sign of a struggle, no sign of foul play, but sometimes, when there was a Queen in vicinity, there didn't need to be. An apple could be a weapon in the hands of the right person.

Emma Swan stepped deftly into her father's shoes, siding with the Sheriff in their determination to find him.

Rumpelstiltskin walked a little closer as Regina turned her smiling wrath on Henry. 

"Come along, Henry," she said, taking the boy by the hand.

"Is there a problem?" Rumpelstiltskin asked, schooling his expression into something like mild curiosity.

Regina stopped dead, and the genuine surprise written all over her face was a delight. "Mr Gold," she said, staring at him. "I didn't expect to see you here."

He smiled placidly. "I can't imagine why not," he said. "After all, it's not every day that someone wakes up from an eternal coma, is it?" Her eyes glittered strangely, and he shrugged one shoulder, in dismissal of the thought. "You know what Mary Margaret is like. If it's not a bird with a broken wing, it's a coma patient. I have no doubt she would have him tucked in a shoebox, wrapped in my best towels if I turned my back."

Henry stifled a snicker.

"So you let your wife rush to a stranger's bedside?" she challenged.

He looked down at his hand on the cane, then back up at her face. "Do you think anyone could stop her, if she put her mind to something?" he said. "Mary Margaret is a stubborn woman. If I forbade it, I would be living with frosty moods and a distinct lack of hot dinners."

Regina's lips curled mockingly. "The powerful Gold, cowed by a little girl."

Rumpelstiltskin's eyes flicked to the boy she was holding onto so desperately. "Quite," he said, then gestured mildly with one hand. "Please excuse me. I would like to see what I can do to be of use."

Regina made a short, sharp sound of indignation, stepping aside. 

Rumpelstiltskin smiled to himself as he walked past her. Once might have been a coincidence, but twice was confirmation.

He was unsurprised that Mary Margaret caught his arm. She looked fraught, and he had no doubt she thought it was her fault. "Is there anything we can do?" he asked, looking at the Sheriff. 

"I'll take it from here," Graham said. "Maybe take Mary Margaret home?"

"No!" Mary Margaret said. She looked at Rumpelstiltskin. "I woke him up. I can't just wait at home to find out if he's okay."

His lips twitched. It was starting. "Very well, dearie," he said. "I'll leave you in Miss Swan's capable hands, if that suits her."

"No problem," Emma agreed. She was looking around the room. "Sheriff, the cameras. Are they working?"

"They should be," Graham agreed. He nodded to Gold. "Mr Gold."

Rumpelstiltskin smiled slightly. "Don't let me hold you back," he said. He accepted Mary Margaret's fleeting kiss to his cheek, then all three dashed off, leaving him standing in the ward, quite alone. He turned, walking into the abandoned room, looking at the bed, the torn lines.

Snow White's dear Prince always was a hardy sort. Dashing dragon-slayer. Erstwhile shepherd. Bandit-catcher. He was exactly the type to get up out of a coma and go for a little stroll.

Now, he knew, was when the trouble would start.

It was going to take a careful hand to gently steer his wife towards her true love. The bonds of matrimony were important to her. No doubt Regina had taken a particular delight in knowing that, so that if or when the curse broke, not only would Snow White have betrayed one husband, but by going back to the first, she would betray another.

It was true that the marriage was little more than a sham created by Regina, but twenty-eight years had built on a small spark of mutual amicability, and turned it into a true relationship. He did not love her, not truly, but much to his astonishment and fury, he cared for her far more than he wanted or intended to. 

It would also take caution to keep Regina from realising that at least one of her sleeping puppets had woken up.

Rumpelstiltskin walked silently back out of the hospital, thinking on matters. It wasn't until he reached the car that he realised young Henry had left his book in the back seat. He returned to his shop, leaving the sign turned to closed. It was not good business sense on a Saturday, but if anyone asked, he always had the useful excuse of a stock take.

In the back shop, he sat down at his workbench and opened the book, leafing through the pages. It was a work of art, taking his breath away with its audacity. Whoever the storyteller was, they clearly liked to tell their side of the stories much more than the truth.

The bell of the shop jangled, which put him on his guard at once. The door had been locked. Only one person would have the gall to walk into his shop like that. He closed the book at once, covering it over with some scrap cloths, and rose from the table. He was halfway to the curtain which separated the front of the shop from the back, when it was pushed aside.

Rumpelstiltskin stopped dead. "Regina," he said, mouth turning up in something that wasn't a smile. "This is an unexpected surprise."

"I'm sure it is," she purred, approaching him. 

"How can I help you?"

She laid her hand on his shoulder, and he ground his teeth, keeping his smile in place. "I'm here to remind you of something important, Mr Gold," she murmured, fixing her eyes on his. He could feel the hooks of her power, the claws of the curse, sinking into his mind to tug it as she wished, "about your marriage."


	14. Chapter 14

Mary Margaret was trembling.

They had found him. 

He was half-conscious now, but he had been close to death then. He was submerged in the icy waters near the old toll bridge when they found him, and even through her panic, there was something screaming in her to stay calm, to save him, to bring him back. 

She didn't know what had shocked her more: that desperate urgent need inside her to keep him safe, or the moment when he had caught his breath, and she knew he was going to live and pressed her lips to his in relief. 

She didn't know him. She had never seen him before in her life. To her knowledge, he was just a John Doe, a stranger, a nameless man who just happened to stir from his coma when she read to him. And yet, she wanted him to live much more than she should have. She couldn't understand why, but he had to survive. He had to live. He couldn't just die, not like that, not when she had found him.

The doctors and nurses were clustered around the bed, and she stared through the glass. Emma was close behind her, Henry with her, and Mary Margaret couldn't face turning to look at them. Or she couldn't look away from the man in the ward. She wasn't sure which, and it was starting to scare her. 

"David?"

Someone rushed past her, through the doors, and towards the bed. It was a woman, someone unfamiliar, with long blonde hair and a tear-stained face. Doctor Whale tried to steer her away from the bed, but she kept pushing closer.

"Wh-who is that?" Mary Margaret heard herself say.

"His wife."

She spun around, startled, at Regina's voice. The Mayor was standing in the doorway, her hands folded before her, her expression calm, but there was an unpleasant gleam in her dark eyes.

"His wife?"

Regina nodded, walking towards them. "Yes, Mrs Gold," she said. "His wife. As in husband-and. I believe you're familiar with the concept, or are you so taken with Mr Nolan that you had forgotten about the ring on your finger?"

Mary Margaret felt sick to her stomach. "Cameron," she whispered. As heroic as saving a man's life was, that was no excuse for kissing him. She had no reason to be so relieved that a stranger lived, especially not when her own husband was no doubt at home, waiting for her to return. "I should go."

"Yes, you really should," Regina murmured. "You have no place here, Mrs Gold."

Mary Margaret glanced back through the window. He was looking at her. John Doe. Mr Nolan. Whoever he was. He was looking at her, and he was so painfully familiar, and yet a complete stranger. 

She turned away, walking quickly past Regina, past Emma, past Henry. She knew she should say something, but her eyes were stinging and her throat felt painfully tight.

She heard Emma growl out Regina's name, but she kept walking, quickening her pace.

She didn't realise anyone was coming after her until Henry clattered up alongside her and caught her hand.

"You found him," he said. "That means it's real!"

The tears she was fighting so hard broke free and she scrubbed at her cheeks. "Henry, Mr Nolan is married. I'm married." She took a steadying breath. "Even if it was all real, we aren't going to be true loves in storybrooke." He looked so devastated that she touched his cheek gently. "Not everyone can get their happy endings, not in the real world."

"But you're Snow White," he said, clutching her hand with both of his. "Snow White needs to be with Prince Charming."

"Henry!" He spun around like a startled rabbit at his mother's voice. Regina was stalking towards them.

Mary Margaret reluctantly released Henry's hand. "I have to get home," she said, forcing herself to meet Regina's eyes. "My husband will be waiting."

The smile that crossed Regina's face was beatific. "I imagine so," she said, taking Henry's hand. "Come along, Henry."

Mary Margaret was still standing there when Emma emerged too. She looked furious, but paused when she saw the look on Mary Margaret's face. 

"Are you okay?"

Mary Margaret managed to smile. "I think so," she said. "It's just been a tiring day."

Emma nodded. "And she doesn't make things any easier," she said, looking darkly after Regina. 

"She's right, though," Mary Margaret murmured. She smiled again, wearily. "I should get back to Cameron."

Emma looked at her with concern, but didn't stop her from walking away.

The walk home helped to clear her head, and when she opened the front door, she called out a greeting. 

From the smell of it, Cameron was busy in the kitchen, and she shook her head with a small smile. He cooked rarely, simply because he claimed he was unskilled in the kitchen. His one dish of speciality was shepherd's pie, and she knew she could do with the comforting warmth of that kind of meal. 

She pushed the kitchen door open. The place was the usual disaster area it was after he cooked. He had no concept of cleaning as he went, and the sink and surrounding worktops were as cluttered as his shop. 

Cameron was sitting at the table, the whisky bottle in front of him, a glass clasped between his hands. He looked haggard and tired, raising bloodshot eyes to her. "You're back?"

"I am." She hurried over to sit beside him. "Are you all right? Did something happen?"

He waved one hand mildly. "A visit from the Mayor," he murmured. "Nothing to be concerned about, dearie." He drained his glass, then set it down on the table. "Isn't it remarkable how much her presence would drive you to drink?"

She took his glass and poured a measure of the whisky. "Amen," she said, then drank.


	15. Chapter 15

Rumpelstiltskin did not like to render himself knowingly powerless, but to keep Regina off his scent, that was exactly what he had done. He had let her into his mind, let her twist his memories, making him that little bit more devoted to his wife, shackling them ever closer together in unholy matrimony.

Beneath it all, in a deep, closed part of his mind, he waited, waited, waited.

Cameron Gold packed up Henry’s book without looking at it, closed the shop, and went home. His wife would be tired after her hunt for the missing invalid, so he took of his coat and set to work making dinner. He was never very good at it, but a simple shepherd’s pie was within his repertoire.

It wasn’t until he opened the cupboard to fetch dishes to lay the table that he found the single word, scrawled on a piece of paper: Emma.

Four little letters.

They didn’t mean anything to Cameron Gold, and suddenly, like a blaze of fireworks across his mind, they did. The walls holding Rumpelstiltskin back cracked like fragile glass under the knowledge and he staggered, falling heavily against the cabinet. A plate slipped from his hands, fell, shattered. 

His mind felt violated, even though it was no worse than what she had done to him for the last twenty-eight years. There was a difference, he knew, in being wholly unaware as someone tore his mind apart, and stepping back to let them do it.

He braced a hand against the wall, stumbling to the cupboard above the refrigerator. There was an older, wiser, darker Scotch there and that was what he needed. His hand shook as he poured a measure and knocked it back. 

By the time Mary Margaret returned, he was back to his whole self, but knew he looked like death warmed over.

From the look on her face, her day had been just as trying as his own.

In stops and starts, she told of the search and that they found John Doe - or David Nolan as he was now known - in the river, and returned him to the hospital. When she mentioned his wife, Rumpelstiltskin privately wondered which unfortunate woman had been pulled into the tangled web that Regina was constructing around Snow White.

It was hardly a surprise that there was a wife out there.

If she was cruel enough to give Snow White a second husband, why not give the ever-loyal and faithful Charming a wife?

“Is he going to recover?” he asked, finally capping the bottle.

Mary Margaret shook her head blankly. “I don’t know,” she said. “I think so.” She looked up at him and looked so devastated that he knew Regina must have made some play to distress her so. “Cam, I only wanted to make sure he was all right.”

He tried to smile, but it was difficult when all he wanted to do was find Regina and tell her to please throw herself off the nearest tower. But no. No. That wouldn’t work at all. The curse had to break first.

It would be a just end. A fair end, when the time came.

“I know,” was all he could say, as he looked down at his empty glass. The Prince was all right. She would find him, and he would find her, and they would always been all right. That was what True Love was meant to be. 

True Love was not meant to have rages and dungeons and clerics and scourges. True Love should not have been cast out and turned away and given to a coward. True love should have been smiles and coming home and not being unhappy.

His wife placed her hand over his, and for a moment, he could almost believe he would look up and see blue eyes looking back at him, bright and clear and smiling.

Blue eyes were green.

She leaned closer and kissed him gently on the lips.

Rumpelstiltskin closed his eyes, neither pushing forward nor pulling back.

Mary Margaret seemed to recognise his melancholy mood, a twin for her own, and she drew back both lips and hands. “I’ll serve the dinner up,” she said quietly, pushing the chair back to rise from the table. “Thank you for cooking.”

He turned his face away, “I knew you would need it,” he said quietly. 

The silence fell, awkward and stilted. Mary Margaret fetched the plates from the cupboard, the crockery from the cabinet, and he moved himself enough to lay them table. Both of them knew something had changed today, but she couldn’t know what, not yet, and he couldn’t tell. He propped his elbow on the table, rubbing at his brow with his fingertips. 

It was almost a relief when someone knocked at the front door.

Mary Margaret set the bread basket down on the table. “I’ll see who that is,” she said.

He could not leave it like that, so he briefly caught her fingers, squeezed.

Her smile returned, though it was a shadow of her usual dazzling one, then went to answer the door.

Rumpelstiltskin folded and refolded her napkin, tilting his head at the sound of two female voices talking, and both approaching. He looked up as Emma Swan entered the kitchen with his wife. For once, she looked as uncertain as Mary Margaret sometimes looked, not so self-assured anymore.

“I was wondering,” she said, looking askance from Mary Margaret to Rumpelstiltskin, “if that offer of a spare room still stands?”

Rumpelstiltskin’s mouth turned up in a tired smile. That would be far better than leaving notes for himself, should Regina ever decide to toy with his mind again. “What do you think, dearie?” he asked, looking at Mary Margaret. “Do you think we have room for a little one?”

It was strangely warming when mother and child shared quick, understanding smiles.

“Yes,” Mary Margaret said. “We do.”


	16. Chapter 16

Mary Margaret was surprised by how easily Emma fitted into her life. 

She was an only child of an only child, and never had any siblings or even any cousins, but when she and Emma spent time together, she could imagine what it was like to have a sister. They were hardly alike. Emma was so much bolder, tougher, and more hardy than she was, and yet, they could talk about anything like sisters would. 

It brought a breath of fresh air to the Gold household.

As much as she didn't want to admit, Mary Margaret had to admit her husband was frequently distant. There was so much she didn't know about him, so much he didn't talk about, and lately, he had become much more serious. Now, there was another person to speak to, and Mary Margaret clung to her presence, something to keep her from the temptation of visiting the hospital and David Nolan, just to make sure he was okay.

It was a frustrating, unsettling, twisting feeling.

She was married, mostly happily, and she couldn't understand the impulse to go to the hospital, to check on the well-being of not just a stranger, but a married stranger. She'd seen his face so often on her rounds, and now, after she had pulled him from the river, he kept slipping into her dreams as if he had a right to be there. 

Cameron wasn't helping matters by retreating to the shop more and more frequently. All the same, she tried to ensure that at least three nights a week, he made it home for dinner with her and Emma.

Emma was sprawled in one of the chairs at the table, her arm draped over the back of it, and one of her feet propped on another chair. "Do you know her?"

Mary Margaret glanced over her shoulder from the stove. "Know who?"

"The maid who works at Granny's," Emma said.

"Ashley?" Mary Margaret frowned, then nodded. "I've not seen her around much. Last I heard, she and her boyfriend had fallen out." She hesitated. "I heard a rumour she was pregnant, but I don't know if that's true."

"I ran into her today," Emma said. "She looks like she's close to due." She sighed. "Poor kid looks like she doesn't know which way to go with it."

Mary Margaret stirred the pasta in the pan. "I don't think she's cut out for single-motherhood," she admitted quietly. "She's a good girl, but she's not exactly got a supportive family or many friends."

"Doesn't mean she can't do it," Emma said with a quiet vehemence that made Mary Margaret look around. Emma met her eyes, her expression defensive. "Anyone who wants to be a mother should damn well have the opportunity to be."

There was so much being unsaid, and Mary Margaret knew Emma was far from inclined to discuss Henry's birth and the circumstances surrounding it. 

"If she wants to be, I have no doubt she will be," she murmured. She glanced at her watch with a frown. "Could you watch the stove for a second? Cameron should be home by now. I'll give him a call and see if he's on the way."

Emma unfolded from the chair and wandered over. "I can't guarantee it'll be edible when you come back," she warned with a lop-sided smile. 

Mary Margaret returned the smile, then picked up the phone and headed into the livingroom, calling the shop first. There was no response there, so she tried his cell, but when there was no response there either, she crossed to the window, looking out. It was unlike him not to respond, especially when they had agreed to a time for him to be home for dinner.

She returned to the kitchen, frowning.

"You okay?" Emma asked.

Mary Margaret looked at the phone in her hand. "I think something might have happened," she said. "Cameron's not answering."

"We can run down to the store, if you want?" Emma suggested. "Dinner can wait."

Mary Margaret looked up from the phone. "Just to check," she agreed. She knew she had already had too much wine while making the pasta sauce to drive, and she knew her nerves would get the better of her behind the wheel. Cameron never ignored his cellphone, not ever. 

When they reached the shop, her heart thumped painfully at the sight of the door ajar, one of the panes shattered.

"Stay here," Emma said, as they got out the car. "I'll check it out."

"Like hell I will!" Mary Margaret said, grabbing Emma's tire iron and running through the door, the rod of metal raised in her hand.

The shop was dark and empty, but she almost cried out at the sight of Cameron sprawled on the floor. She hit the lights, running over to him and dropping to her knees beside him. He was breathing, but there was blood on his temple, and his eyes were stuck closed.

"Cameron?" she said urgently, slipping an arm under his shoulder. "Love, can you hear me?"

He stirred, and his eyelids twitched, a frown tensing his face. "Bell?"

"Yeah," Mary Margaret said softly. "The bell. It was us. Emma and I."

His eyes opened slowly, bloodshot, and he hissed, wincing and closing them again. "Mace," he said hoarsely.

"I'll get water," Emma said, stepping around them to head into the back of the shop. "Where's the phone? You should call Graham."

"No," Cameron growled, sitting up with Mary Margaret's help. "No Sheriff."

"Cameron, don't be stupid," Mary Margaret snapped, holding him protectively. It was so rare for him to be vulnerable, and she was surprised at the anger she felt at the sight of him hurt. She wanted to find someone, hit them for harming him. "Someone broke in and attacked you. You can't let them get away with it."

He caught her wrist, clutching at her blindly. "Trust me, dearie," he whispered. "Better the law doesn't know."

She pressed her lips to his hair, holding him tightly. "You better have a good reason," she said.

His fingers stroked along her wrist lightly. "I do," he murmured.


	17. Chapter 17

Rumpelstiltskin missed the days when he could heal an injury with a gesture and a twist of magic.

Now, his head ached and his eyes still burned from Ashley's mace. To add insult to injury, Mary Margaret had insisted on patching his cut temple. The only kind of band-aids a self-respecting school teacher carried meant that he now found his temple adorned with a bright yellow band-aid with cartoon eyes. Spongebob Squarepants, she informed him, as she leaned close to stick it in place. 

He knew she was upset that he was hurt, but also angry, and she was taking out her frustration on him the only way she could: with humiliating medical treatment. 

Emma was standing close by.

They had patched the window of the shop door with a piece of board, then bundled him into Emma's bug and brought him back to the house. Mary Margaret rinsed his eyes herself, and the first thing he saw as his vision cleared was the narrow-eyed focus and the flush of fury in her face.

Always so protective of that which was hers, he mused. 

"So," she said, once the wound was covered. "Explain."

He sat back in the thickly-upholstered arm chair. "It's a long story."

Mary Margaret folded her arms, and Emma perched on the arm of her chair. "We have time," his wife said. 

From the moment they had found him until now, he had been going through plausible ways to explain away Ashley's invasion of the shop. Once upon a time, a desperate girl had made a deal with a monster. Not long after, she tried to make another, and did not listen well enough. She ended up letting him sign a deal that he had negotiated, and now, the price was to be paid on their first bargain, no matter if she maced him and stole the papers away. 

In this world, in this time, in this place, perhaps only the truth would do, if he was to keep the saviour on his side. 

He folded his hands slowly, one over the other.

"It was Ashley Boyd," he murmured.

"Ashley?" Emma said in disbelief. "Small girl? Blonde? Pregnant?"

"Indeed," he said. "She was quite beside herself, babbling about changing her life." He would not have noticed the sudden, guilty look that flashed across Emma's face if he had not known to watch for it. Nothing changed in Storybrooke, not until the saviour touched it. "She was quite unlike herself."

Mary Margaret fixed her eyes on him intently. "And why would she come after you, Cam? Did she steal anything?"

Smart girl. Snow White always was.

"There was... an arrangement," he said finally. Each word was carefully picked and arranged in the most benevolent way possible. "The grandfather of the child wanted to be sure it would be taken care of. When the time came."

"Adoption." Emma's voice was flat. 

"Better than being taken into care, when its mother inevitably faltered," Rumpelstiltskin pointed out. "A good home was found, a couple who have wanted a child for some time." He looked at Mary Margaret, hoping against hope that their imagined past would give her some level of understanding. "Miss Boyd signed the contract willingly."

"Why did she go to you?" Emma asked abruptly. "Why not go through social services?"

Rumpelstiltskin smiled slightly. "The formal adoption process is long and complicated," he said. "I was considered a short-cut, so to speak." He shrugged, lifting one hand to touch the corner of his eye. It was still stinging from the mace. "I can't imagine what came over her to think stealing the contract would render it invalid."

"What came over her is that she wants to keep her child," Emma said. "You have no idea what that feels like?"

Rumpelstiltskin was impressed that he restrained himself from flinching. All the same, unwanted words spilled out: "Don't I?"

For a split-second, both Emma and Mary Margaret stared at him.

His forced his mouth into a smile. "Perhaps I do, perhaps I don't," he murmured. "What matters is that she signed a contract. She accepted the financial recompense that came from it quite happily. Now, she breaks into my shop, assaults me, robs me, and tries to break a transaction for which she has already been paid. I understand her distress, but surely you can't defend her actions."

"A child, Cameron?" Mary Margaret said quietly. "You brokered the trade of a child?"

He clasped his hands tightly together in his lap. "I found a child a home," he said, his voice taut. "I think I am being remarkably generous, given what would happen to her if I had allowed you to call the police."

"You're right," Emma said, rising from the arm of the chair. "If you'd called the cops, the kid would be taken into care." She walked in a slow circle. "She wants to keep it, Gold. She's scared, sure, but she doesn't want to lose her kid." She looked at him with her mother's fierce eyes. "You know she was probably pushed into signing that contract."

"Be that as it may," Rumpelstiltskin murmured, "she signed a contract. The couple who paid her did so in good faith. I have no doubt that any monies paid to her have been spent, and if the contract is cancelled, I would be the one who stands to lose, both in reputation and financially."

Emma turned to look at him. "Is that all that matters to you?"

He met her eyes. "No," he said quietly. "I understand the importance of family and giving a child a good home, more than you could know."

She continued to gaze at him, as if she could read his mind, then finally nodded. "Okay," she said, putting her hands on her hips, rocking on the balls of her feet, "so first things first is that we have to find her. We can work out where to go from there, once we sit her down and talk to her." 

Rumpelstiltskin almost smiled at that. A sensible option. Who would have thought?

"Very well," he said, rising. "I can't make any promises, but you find the girl, and we can consider our options."


	18. Chapter 18

Emma was out, driving through town, searching for Ashley. The few friends Ashley had were unlikely to be helpful, and her ex-boyfriend definitely wasn’t, but it was all that they could really do.

Mary Margaret stayed at the house with Cameron. She wanted him to get his head checked, but he insisted he was all right and it would only lead to awkward questions if he arrived at the hospital with a head wound.

He picked at a bowl of slightly overcooked and wet pasta, the remnants of what should have been a pleasant meal, if he hadn’t been assaulted. She could tell his eyes were still bothering him, and silently fetched a fresh bowl of warm water.

“Sit back,” she murmured, returning to the table with the bowl and some cotton balls.

“You needn’t…”

“Cam, I can tell your eyes are hurting,” she said sternly. “Let me rinse them again. It might ease things a little.” 

He pushed his chair back enough to let her stand over him, and tilted his head back. As gently as she could, she drew a damp cotton ball across his closed eye, letting the moisture seep beneath his eyelid, soothing where the mace had stung. 

Cameron barely moved, barely even seemed to breathe. His hands were clenched in fists on his lap, and she knew it must be stinging a lot, but he didn’t even make a sound as she rinsed one eye then the other, and then leaned down and kissed him gently.

He lowered his head, away from her kiss, and moisture streaked from his eyes. It almost looked like tear-tracks cutting down his cheeks. One of his hands blindly sought his jacket pocket and found his kerchief. He carefully wiped his face.

“Thank you, dearie,” he murmured, opening his eyes. They were still bloodshot, but they were clearer than they had been. He folded the kerchief carefully, into a neat square. “You have questions, don’t you?”

Mary Margaret sat down in the chair beside him. “What gave you that idea?” she asked dryly.

He looked at her, his expression unfathomable. “I don’t sell babies, no matter how suspect it may have sounded,” he said. “The girl was put into an unfortunate situation, and I simply offered a solution that would have benefited everyone involved.” 

“By taking her child from her.”

One side of his mouth quirked up, but he looked too tired to smile. “By giving the child the best chance in life,” he corrected quietly. “She was acting out of desperation, I know, but those who are so desperate will do foolish things that can hurt the child in the long run.”

Mary Margaret looked at him, Cameron Gold, her enigmatic husband with his unknown past. She remembered his sharp response when Emma accused him of not understanding. She remembered their past conversations of a child he couldn’t bear to lose.

“Are you speaking from experience?” she finally asked. When he didn’t immediately answer, she knew she had struck upon the point. It felt like a blow, knowing this was a secret he had kept from her as long as they had been together. “Cameron, did you have a child?”

He looked down at the kerchief in his hands, turning it over and over. He looked dozens of years older, his features drawn in silent grief. “Once,” he said with quiet finality. “A long time ago.” He set the kerchief on the table, then started to rise, groping for his cane. “I think I should rest.”

Mary Margaret nodded, rising too. “Do you want some help on the stairs?”

He shook his head, then winced. “I’ll be fine. If Miss Swan is successful…”

“I’m not waking you,” she said, touching his arm. “I’ll come up and check on you in half an hour, just to make sure you haven’t swallowed your own tongue or something. Ashley can wait until morning, and you need to sleep.”

For a moment, he almost looked as if he might smile. “You should be a commander, dearie,” he murmured, bracing his hand against the doorframe. “People would listen when you gave an order.”

She swatted his arm firmly. “If my husband would listen, it would be enough,” she said. “Now go to bed.”

She could track his progress through the house, the floorboards creaking and groaning quietly as he walked to the master bedroom. It seemed like forever since they had slept there together, her arm around his middle. 

Something had changed, and it saddened her that she couldn’t understand what. That his past was now slipping out in small, broken fragments was a direct response, but she could see no reason, no reason at all for it to be happening.

Mary Margaret picked up his handkerchief from the table and dabbed at the corners of her own eyes. It was stupid to get so upset, but she felt drained and it wasn’t just because Cam was attacked. It was everything: David Nolan haunting her dreams, Ashley Boyd selling a child like a commodity, her husband having a past and a child she knew nothing about. 

She put the handkerchief down and set herself to tidying the kitchen. Anything was better than sitting and moping. She cleared away the leftover food, putting it in the refrigerator, washed the dishes, and wiped down the surfaces. 

Only when that was done did she venture upstairs. 

Cameron was lying on his back on the bed, his cane resting on the blanket by his right side, his hand resting lightly on his chest. He always kept his cane close by, just in case he needed it in the night. He looked peaceful, but she knew him well enough to know he wasn’t sleeping.

Mary Margaret toed her shoes off and climbed onto the bed, curling on her side, and clasping his left hands with hers.

“Are you okay?” she asked quietly. 

He breathed softly, in then out. “I will be,” he murmured. 

She laid her head on his shoulder, threading her fingers through his unresisting ones. “We will be,” she corrected, squeezing his hand. “We.”

“We,” he echoed quietly into the dark.


	19. Chapter 19

Morning came quietly. 

Rumpelstiltskin woke with a headache, and a lingering memory of saying too much. It was amazing how difficult it was to keep quiet when dealing with a head injury. He tilted his head, relieved that the bed was empty, though he could see the hollow where Mary Margaret had curled beside him through the night.

He rose, dressed, and descended the stairs. 

The sound of female voices speaking in low murmurs reached him from the kitchen, and he paused on the staircase. There were three voices. It seemed Miss Swan's hunt had been successful.

"Hi, Mr Gold."

He turned his head. "Henry?"

Henry Mills waved from one of the big chairs in the living room. He was sitting cross-legged, a latter-day Peter Pan, and had his book in his lap. "Cinderella's in the kitchen," he said. "I have to stay through here. I think they don't want me to hear them talking about why she ran away."

Rumpelstiltskin's lips twitched. "I'm sure you probably know more than they do," he said, walking a little closer to the boy. "Very interesting book you have there."

Henry looked up at him. There was a shrewdness to the boy. He had his grandparents' courage and nerve, but he could not have been raised by Regina without a little of that rubbing off on him as well. "What's your favourite story?"

Rumpelstiltskin laughed quietly. "Now there's a question," he said. "They all have their own merit."

Henry closed the book over, resting his forearms on the cover. "Do you think it's true?"

"Does it matter whether I think it is or not? Would that change how true it is?"

Henry shrugged. "I guess not," he said. He put his head to one side. "You have a spongebob band-aid on your head. Is that where Cinderella hit you?"

Rumpelstiltskin winced, reaching up to peel the sticky abomination off. "That's where my cabinet hit me," he said. He balled the band-aid up, then studied the boy. "So you think Mary Margaret is Snow White, and young Miss Boyd is Cinderella. Who do you think I am?"

The boy's brown eyes narrowed thoughtfully. "I'm still trying to figure you out," he said. "Who do you think you are?"

Rumpelstiltskin allowed a flash of a grin to cross his face. "You think I couldn’t guess?”

Henry's mouth dropped open. "You know?"

Rumpelstiltskin tapped the side of his nose. "Perhaps," he said. "I'll make a deal with you." He leaned closer until they were almost nose-to-nose. "If you can guess who I think I am with only one guess, I’ll tell you what I know of your book."

Henry eyed him suspiciously. “How can I trust you? You’re Mr Gold.”

Rumpelstiltskin grinned. “That’s your mother talking,” he said. “Though if you agree, you cannot breathe a word of this to anyone. Not until the time is right.”

"But not even Emma?"

Rumpelstiltskin shook his head sternly. "Not anyone. And if you break a deal with me, my boy, I will know."

Henry looked at him intently, then held out a hand. "Deal."

It was almost painfully familiar, a bright-eyed young lad offering a hand. Rumpelstiltskin briefly clasped his fingers, then drew back. "I suppose I should go in and see what the ladies have been planning in my absence," he murmured. "I'll leave you to think about who I might be."

"I'll figure it out!" Henry called after him. "I always do!"

It was probably foolishness to trust in the boy's discretion, but he was the son of the Saviour, the grandchild of Snow White and her Prince. On top of that, he had all the guile of the Queen, and there was something more there, some spark of fierce cunning that certainly didn't come from his mother's side.

Rumpelstiltskin approached the kitchen, pushing the door open. 

Mary Margaret, Emma and Miss Boyd were sitting at the table. Ashley Boyd's eyes were swollen and red, and the moment he entered the room, she wrapped her arms protectively around her belly. Emma rose at once, and Rumpelstiltskin noticed with amusement that she placed herself directly between him and the girl. 

"You found her then."

"I did," she said with quiet defiance, "and we are going to sit down at this table, and you are going to find some way for her to keep her child."

He put his head slightly to one side. "Will she repay what she was paid? Will she inform the couple that she is withdrawing her offer?" he murmured.

"I'll do anything," Ashley said.

His lips twitched. "Be mindful, dear," he murmured. "As I recall, you said you would do anything to be out of the mess you found yourself in, and now, you are reneging on that. Anything is not negotiable."

She shrank back in the chair. "You're not taking my baby."

"You offered me anything," he reminded her quietly, "when you have nothing. All you have is the child. I'm a businessman, Miss Boyd."

"Cameron," Mary Margaret said quietly. "Just this once, can't you cancel the contract?"

He didn't dare to look at her, knowing exactly how disappointed she would look. "If I cancelled one, then why not all?" he said simply. "This comes down to a matter of principle and law. I cannot be seen breaking one deal for one individual who didn't think about the small print. I can't do it without a repayment of some kind."

"I'll repay it," Emma cut in. "Tell me how much it was."

“No!” Ashley exclaimed. “You can’t.”

Emma turned a fierce look on her. “I won’t let your baby be taken,” she said. “I made you that promise.” She looked at Rumpelstiltskin again. “How much?”

Rumpelstiltskin looked back at her. "I won't accept your money, Miss Swan. This wasn't your deal."

She stepped closer to him. "Then make a deal with me," she said, arms folded over her chest. "Is that what it'll take?"

He looked at her. Two deals with two generations in one day.

"Very well," he murmured. "Let's say you'll owe me a favour."

"What kind of favour?" she asked, her eyes cool and hard.

He lifted his shoulder. "Something will no doubt come up," he murmured. It would never be a disadvantage to have the Saviour owing him, even if just meant having her save his skin when the curse broke. "Do we have a deal?"

Emma nodded curtly. "Deal," she said.


	20. Chapter 20

“I don’t get him.”

Mary Margaret glanced forward at Emma. “Cameron?”

Emma nodded.

They were in her bug on the way to the hospital. Ashley was in the back of the car beside Mary Margaret, breathing heavily. She had gone into labour while they were having breakfast, and Emma seemed determined not to let the girl out of her sight until the child was born.

“He’s not as bad as everyone thinks,” Mary Margaret said.

“But he’s not as good as you would like,” Emma observed, glancing back in the rear-view mirror. Mary Margaret couldn’t meet her eyes. She kept her attention on Ashley, who was clinging to her hand and whimpering every time a contraction hit her.

“You’re doing great, Ashley,” she said quietly.

“You shouldn’t have done that,” the girl whispered, looking at Emma. “You don’t know what happens when you make a deal with him.”

Mary Margaret clenched her teeth but kept her peace, dabbing at Ashley’s sweat-dotted brow with one of Cameron’s handkerchiefs. She already knew that Cameron the husband was very different from Mr Gold the businessman. 

All the same, from everything that both Cameron and Ashley had said, Ashley was the one who tried to break a deal when he made arrangements to find her child a home and security. It was the wrong way to go about doing the right thing, and while she couldn’t approve of his method, she could understand his reasoning.

As soon as they reached the hospital, Emma hustled the younger woman in, and Mary Margaret trailed after them. As sorry as she felt for the girl, she couldn’t help a pang of jealousy that a mere child could accidentally find herself in a condition that Mary Margaret had longed to be in for years. 

She wrapped her arms over her middle, choosing to walk instead through the quiet halls while Ashley was rushed away to the maternity suite. She knew she shouldn’t be jealous. It was pointless and petty, but the idea of having a child, holding a child, being a mother…

A hand on her shoulder made her spin around with a small cry of surprise.

John Doe - no, David Nolan - was standing there in a dressing gown. He was still pale and drawn, but he was walking around, which was a good sign. He smiled hesitantly, but there was a frown crinkling the corners of his eyes. “You’re Mary Margaret, um, I mean Mrs Gold, aren’t you?” he said. 

She nodded, searching his features. He was exactly as he was in her dreams: smiling, gracious, charming. “And you’re David Nolan?”

He laughed self-consciously, rubbing the back of his neck with one hand. “So they tell me,” he said. “I didn’t mean to startle you, but I hadn’t seen you since I was brought back. I wanted to thank you.”

She frowned. “Thank me?” she asked, puzzled.

“For saving my life,” he clarified. “The Sheriff said you were there when they found me. He said I would be dead, if you hadn’t known what to do.”

“Oh!” Mary Margaret’s cheeks flushed. “I-I had forgotten.” She laughed self-consciously. “It seemed like the honourable thing to do.”

“Even if you don’t remember doing it.” He grinned at her, warm and bright, nothing like Cameron’s sparing, brief smiles. “Nice to see I made such an impression,” he said. “Maybe we should start over.” He held out a hand. “Hi. I’m David.”

Mary Margaret looked down at his hand, then clasped it in hers. It was broad, strong, and she wished she hadn’t touched him skin-to-skin. It was stupid, this crush. It was stupid and harmful and she was married, and so was he, but her hand was in his, and it felt right and she smiled cautiously up at him. “Mary Margaret. Is me.”

His smile seemed to brighten his whole face. “Well, Mary Margaret,” he said, and she was amused when he bowed slightly at the waist. “I’m very pleased to meet you.”

She drew her hand back and performed a playful curtsey. “Likewise, good sir,” she said.

He looked around them, then back at her. “Would you walk with me?” he asked. “I’m meant to exercise, but the halls are so boring, it’s tempting to go back and play solitaire.” Mary Margaret hesitated and he held up his hands. “Don’t worry. If you have somewhere to be, I play a mean hand of solitaire.”

“Isn’t your wife…?”

For a moment, he looked lost. “Oh. Right. Kathryn?” He frowned as if he couldn’t recall if that was the right name. “I think she’s working. She only comes in the evening, and it’s not exactly a social hub.” He gave her a pleading look. “Just half an hour? If you can spare it?” He raised his eyebrows hopefully. “Would you take mercy on me and keep me from going insane from boredom?”

Mary Margaret looked down the long halls. Emma would be taking care of Ashley, she knew, and she really couldn’t face a woman who would sell a child. It wouldn’t hurt just to walk for a little with another patient. She had done it with dozens of others, after all.

“I can walk with you for a little while,” she said, trying not to be as happy as she was when his smile returned.

After all, it was only a walk, and he was only a patient.

What harm could it do?


	21. Chapter 21

Rumpelstiltskin could remember what it was to be himself.

From time to time, people would come to his shop, seeking assistance or offering something in trade. They always went away satisfied, though always having paid more than they ever expected or intended to. It was the way the game was played.

He was in the shop one afternoon when a visitor came in who wanted neither.

“Hey, Mr Gold.”

He looked up from the counter with a small, knowing smile. “Henry. Have you come to make a guess?”

Henry shucked his rucksack from his shoulders and set it down. “Not yet,” he said. “I’m working on it.” He looked around the shop. It was the first time the boy had ever ventured in without the spectre of his mother looming over his shoulder. Normally, she would supervise, her dark eyes fixed on Cameron Gold, and he had never understood why. Now, though, he understood all too well. “I thought I might get clues here.”

“Smart lad,” Rumpelstiltskin said with approval, “but what makes you think I wouldn’t have hidden anything that might give me away.”

Henry looked at him with knowing brown eyes. “Because you want someone to know,” he said. “Everyone in town’s forgotten, but if you look real close, you can see who they were trying to get out. Like Ruby always has red on and Archie always wants to do the right thing.”

Rumpelstiltskin was impressed. “You’ve been keeping your eyes open.”

Henry shrugged. “No one else is.” He walked closer, looking around the shop. “I bet you have important stuff right in front of everyone, and no one even knows.”

Rumpelstiltskin folded his hands on the counter. “You’re quite welcome to look,” he said, forcing his eyes to remain on the boy, rather than risking a glance around. There were objects that reminded him of Bae, of course, but whether there was anything that reminded him of himself, he had not cared to check.

Henry wandered this way and that, picking things up and looking back at him, as if gauging whether the object was significant or not. He had barely studied a dozen objects when Rumpelstiltskin’s pen shivered and rolled.

Thousands of days of memories told Rumpelstiltskin what was coming.

“Henry! Quick!” He waved the boy over urgently, into the doorway between the front and the back of the shop, pulling him close and bracing back against one side of the doorframe, his other hand against the other. Strange how easy it was to protect a child with his own body, in this place and time.

Around them, the shop heaved and rattled, and Rumpelstiltskin felt Henry clinging onto his arm. It lasted less than ten seconds, but it was enough to send several objects crashing to the floor, and shake open the doors of the cabinets. 

“What was that?”

Rumpelstiltskin looked down at him in amusement. “That, Henry, was what most people would recognise as an earthquake.”

Henry pulled a face at him. “We don’t have those in Storybrooke.” 

“Change begets change,” Rumpelstiltskin murmured, half to himself, then gently nudged the boy away. “You should run and find your mother. She’ll think you’ve fallen down some crack in the earth or some such nonsense.”

The boy fled for his rucksack. No doubt he was as experienced as Rumpelstiltskin himself when it came to his mother’s temper.

No one else came to the shop, but whispers reached him of a collapsed mine on the outskirts of town, which was proving a distraction for the populace. Since it looked like it would be a quiet evening, he locked up the shop and headed for home.

For once, he was pleased to find that Mary Margaret was out. She had mentioned something about volunteering once more, which gave him hope that she and her Prince might actually do more than just moon at one another from afar.

Emma, on the other hand, was sprawled on her back on the sofa with a book.

“Miss Swan,” he murmured as he closed the door behind him and set his cane aside to remove his jacket. She lowered the book to peer over at him. She had been warier, since the incident with Ashley Boyd and her child, but it was only wariness. “Interesting day?”

“You heard about the mine, huh?”

Rumpelstiltskin smiled. “I don’t think there’s a person in town who didn’t,” he said. “Did you get pulled into helping? I can’t help noticing your boots were quite dusty outside the door.” She tapped at her belt, and he could see the deputy’s badge. Rumpelstiltskin was - for a moment - genuinely surprised. “Settling?”

She shrugged with a quick, half-smile. “Figured I’d see how things go for now,” she said, sitting up. “Henry said he was at your shop when the quake happened.” She looked him over. “You both undamaged?”

“Just a little shaken,” he replied, crossing the floor to sit down on one of the armchairs. “Do they know what caused the mine to collapse?”

Emma shook her head, pushing one hand through her hair. “But Regina’s gone bulldozing in and wants to level the place and fill it up with concrete,” she said. 

“Ah, yes,” Rumpelstiltskin said. “Her usual relaxed approach to a situation.”

To his amusement, Emma snorted, a half-smile curving her lips. “You got that right,” she said, stretching out her legs in front of her. “And of course, Henry’s convinced that she’s trying to hide something down there, because you can’t make a hazardous mine safe without it being the Evil Queen hiding something.”

Rumpelstiltskin’s lips twitched. “Have you considered that perhaps is because she is?”

Emma looked at him. “What? Because she’s an Evil Queen?” she said, amusement in her voice.

“Well, as near as makes no difference,” he said, smiling slightly.

Emma shook her head with a rueful smile. “Won’t disagree with that,” she said.

“Maybe you should take a look, anyway,” Rumpelstiltskin said with a meaningful quirk of his eyebrows, as he leaned back in his chair. “We wouldn’t want the whole town to fall into a sinkhole on your watch, would we?”

Emma just rolled her eyes.


	22. Chapter 22

It was a crush. 

That was all it was. 

That was all it ever would be.

Mary Margaret told herself that over and over again, every time she went in to do her rounds of volunteering at the hospital. Cameron didn’t mind. In fact, he encouraged it, insisting that it stopped people from assuming that she was turning into a callous, soulless creature like himself. She had punched him on the arm for saying such things.

He didn’t mind that she spent an hour or two a day at the hospital. He didn’t even seem to mind that the greater part, if not all of the time was spent in the company of David Nolan. He told her it was charming for her to take such an interest in the man.

David was everything Cameron wasn’t.

Even though his memory of his life before his accident was practically non-existent, there could be no hiding the fact that he was and remained a warm, friendly man who had a ready smile for almost anyone. 

When she sat with him, they played nonsensical word games. When they walked, they discussed the nature in the surrounds of the hospital. When they ventured into the horror of the cafeteria, they both pretended to enjoy the coffee, even though it tasted like ground acorns.

“It sounds like it could be dangerous.”

Mary Margaret tossed a pebble into the river. They were sitting on the bank, enjoying the cool afternoon sunlight. “It’s probably just as dangerous as the rest of the mines in the area,” she said. “The whole place is riddled with them.”

He looked at her attentively. “What did they mine?”

She shrugged, offering him a pebble to toss. “Coal, I think,” she said. “But no one’s ventured down in so long, they could have mined cotton candy for all we know.”

David laughed. “You wouldn’t really need a pick to hack it out of the walls, would you?” he said. “Just take a long, thin stick and whirl it around.” He leaned sideways to nudge her shoulder with his. “The only trouble is your miners would probably end up too fat to get out of the mineshaft.”

Mary Margaret couldn’t help laughing. “You’re putting way too much thought into this,” she said, tossing the last of the pebbles from her skirt back into the water. She got to her feet and offered him her hands. “Come on. I should get you back, before they think you’ve wandered off to fall in the river again.”

He let her help him up, his hands so firm around hers that she blushed. “They’d also know you’d be there to save me again,” he said with a smile. They were standing close and his hands were still warm around hers, his thumbs brushing across her knuckles. 

“David!”

Mary Margaret tugged her hands free, as if burned.

David looked momentarily puzzled, then turned and his frown deepened just enough for Mary Margaret to notice. He didn’t want to be interrupted any more than she did, but the woman approaching them had every right to do so.

“Kathryn,” Mary Margaret said, wishing the blush would recede from her cheeks, as if she hadn’t been imagining David leaning down and kissing her. “I-I didn’t realise I’d kept him out so late.”

David nodded. “Is it visiting hours already?”

Kathryn shook her head with a tentative smile. It would have been easier to hate her, Mary Margaret thought distantly, if she was unpleasant, but Kathryn was one of the sweetest women she had ever met. “I just wanted to see you.” She held out a basket and smiled. “I made you your favourite muffins.”

David looked at the basket, then at her, and his smile softened his features. “That’s great.”

Mary Margaret looked away. It was stupid to be jealous of his wife. She brushed her skirts down, then cleared her throat. “I should go,” she said, forcing a quick smile onto her face. “I need to get home.”

She knew it was stupid to be pleased by how disappointed David looked.

Stupid and selfish and his wife was right there.

“You’ll come by again?”

Kathryn slipped her arm through David’s and smiled at her too. “I know it means a lot for David to have company.”

Mary Margaret smiled back, but it felt like she had been doused with ice water. This woman, this kind, sweet and lovely woman cared for her husband. She believed Mary Margaret was there out of some kindness, rather than something much less pure. 

“I’ll come by again,” she said, and she knew in that moment that she was lying.

He was married.

She was married too.

Even if Cameron thought it was a good idea for her to continue with her volunteering,, she wasn’t doing it for the right reasons anymore. She hadn’t been, not since the first time David Nolan had looked at her.

She had no place coming and visiting, and gently slipping herself into the gaping hole in his memories, where his wife should be. It wasn’t Kathryn’s fault that she had to work to support herself and her husband. It wasn’t her fault that he was left alone so often. It wasn’t right that in her absence, Mary Margaret was earning affections she had no right to.

David smiled at her, as if he didn’t even see the woman on his arm. “I’ll see you soon,” he said, and she made herself smile in response, then turn and walk away.


	23. Chapter 23

The dinner table was a quiet one.

Mary Margaret on one side was chasing a piece of broccoli around her plate with a fork, and her daughter on the other was staring moodily into her wine. Rumpelstiltskin looked from one to the other, then dabbed at his lips with a napkin.

“Anyone for seconds?” he suggested. “Or are we done?”

Both women shook their head, the same dejected expression on their faces.

He folded his hands together. “Has the world ended?” he asked. “Or is something worse on its way?”

They looked at him in surprise, then at each other.

“Oh, it’s nothing,” Emma said, sprawling back in a brave attempt at indifference. “Just her Royal Mayorness being… well… her. If I hadn’t gone down that damned mine after Henry, what would she have done?”

“Fallen to her death, probably, which would have been a dire tragedy for all and sundry,” he said dryly, earning a brief smirk from Emma. “What about you, dearie? You’ve been very quiet since you returned from the hospital.”

“I’m not going to volunteer anymore,” Mary Margaret declared, setting her fork down. “It’s far too much trouble.”

Rumpelstiltskin sighed inwardly. He had expected problems, knowing what a moral woman Mary Margaret had always been, both in this life and the last. It was no small wonder she was taking herself out of the way of temptation.

Privately, he had hoped weeks of neglecting her would have fanned the flame when David doubtless turned his good-natured attentions on her. Unfortunately, it seemed that Regina’s plan of marrying Snow off was only complicated by marrying her Prince off as well. She might well consider David approachable if he had no wife to burden him, but as it was, they both had their own links.

“It’s a shame,” he said. “I know how much you enjoyed helping there.”

His wife rose from the table, picking up her dishes to carry them over to the sink. “I thought it would be better if I could be at home more often,” she said, though he would have needed to be blind to miss the way her face flushed. “We hardly spend enough time together as it is.”

Emma practically catapulted to her feet. “This sounds like a conversation I’m not meant to be part of,” she said with her usual directness. Sometimes, she was so refreshingly like her father. She rocked on her feet. “I’ll go and watch some TV or something. Leave the dishes, and I’ll do ‘em after.”

She was out of the room before Mary Margaret could protest.

“It’s almost as if we’ve adopted,” she said quietly, setting her plate down on the counter, and gazing down at it. “Run off upstairs and watch TV, Emma. Mommy and daddy need to have a grown-up talk.”

Rumpelstiltskin watched her. “If you had a daughter, dearie, I have no doubt she would be exactly like Miss Swan,” he said. He saw the twitch of his wife’s lips, and turned his chair a little. “Is something troubling you? I can’t remember the last time you were so quiet.”

She remained where she was standing, half-turned away, straightening the fork on her plate. “I’ve been stupid, Cam,” she said quietly. She didn’t look at him, but he could see the distress on her face. “I don’t want you to be upset.”

“Nothing you could do would upset me,” he murmured.

She laughed tremulously. “Oh, I don’t know about that.”

He pushed himself to his feet. “I do,” he said. “Dearie, you’re my wife. You’ve taken me on, despite all the rumours and whispers and stories. You’ve been saddled with my name and my reputation. What could you possibly have done to surpass everything I’ve done?”

She looked at him with a small, shivering smile. “I suppose it’s not much compared to what people say about you,” she admitted. Her eyes were bright with unshed tears, and he wished he could tell her that she didn’t need to feel guilty about loving the man who was really her true love. “But it doesn’t make me feel less bad.”

He retrieved his cane and limped towards her, offering her a hand. “Whatever it is, dearie, don’t trouble yourself.”

She clasped his fingers, almost too tightly. “I love you, Cam.”

He looked at her with a brief, sad smile. “No, dearie,” he murmured, squeezing her fingertips gently. “You don’t. You like me well enough, but we both know it isn’t love. Not the kind of love they sing songs and write stories about.”

She looked so devastated that he wondered if he had gone too far, but she stepped closer, and wrapped her arms around his middle, resting her forehead on his shoulder. “It’s enough,” she whispered.

He brought his free hand up to cradle the back of her head gently. “Sometimes,” he agreed quietly. “Sometimes, it’s enough.”

But then, he thought, when your true love, your handsome Prince, was sitting in a hospital ward, less than a mile away, it was never going to be enough. He just wondered how long it would take her to realise that.


	24. Chapter 24

"I'm not sure this is a good idea."

Cameron offered her his arm. "Of course it is, dearie," he said. "I would quite like to meet this man whose life you saved."

Mary Margaret looked up at the Nolan house. David and Kathryn had sent her an invitation to celebrate David's return from the hospital. As much as she wanted to see David, she also wanted to stay as far away from him as humanly possible. It had been days since she had seen him, but she still dreamed of him. 

"We should only stay a little while," she said as they made their way up the steps. "We don't want to tire him out."

"Quite so," he said, then knocked on the door with the handle of his cane.

Kathryn opened the door, smiling warmly. "You made it," she said, embracing Mary Margaret. "David'll be delighted to see you." She turned with a smile to Cameron. "I'm Kathryn Nolan."

"Most people just call me Gold," Cameron said, clasping her hand briefly.

Kathryn laughed. "How very mod rockstar of you," she said. "I've heard the stories, Mr Gold." She pulled the door wide. "Come in."

Mary Margaret let her husband enter first, then followed, keeping her eyes down. She could hear Emma talking, and glanced sidelong, spotting the other woman sitting with Henry near the stairs. Cameron was already further into the house, and she saw him walk directly to David.

She didn't know what was said between them, but David laughed and looked over to her. Cameron smiled too, briefly, and beckoned her over to join them. She knew she had no choice, approaching them and putting her hands into her pockets, clenching them tightly. 

"Mary Margaret," David said, and the very way he said her name made her tremble down to her toes. "How are you?"

"Good," she said, looking down at her feet. "I'm good."

"Mr Nolan was just saying you helped a great deal in his recuperation," Cameron said. "Saving his life, restoring his health, entertaining him when he was trapped in hospital. Is there anything you can't do?"

Mary Margaret felt her cheeks redden. "It was nothing," she said self-consciously. 

"Nonsense," Cameron said warmly. He patted her shoulder. "If you'll excuse me a moment, dearie, I need to have a word with young Mr Mills." He limped off before she could catch his arm, before she could think of an excuse to slip away herself.

"So, um..." David shifted on his feet. "It's good to see you."

She looked up at him, and the smile that lit his face made her heart clench in her chest. "You too," she said in a tiny voice. He moved as if to embrace her in welcome, and she stepped back, blood pounding in her ears. "I-I'm sorry. This was a mistake."

She fled out into the hall, past Cameron and Henry, past Emma, out of the door into the cool air of the evening. She didn't stop until she was half a block away, and braced a hand against a lamp post, breathing heavily. If he had touched her, if he had held her, it would have made everything much more complicated and hurtful, and she couldn't stand the thought of it. 

Her eyes were burning, and she tried hard to blink back tears.

"Mary Margaret?"

She didn't want to turn, didn't want to know that he had followed her, out here, where there was no one to see her being stupid, to know she was falling apart inside because she was falling for a man she couldn't have for so many reasons. 

"You should go home," she said, trying to keep her voice steady. 

"I don't want to be there," he said quietly. "Mary Margaret, what's wrong? Why did you leave?"

She wrapped her arms around her middle. "Why?" she asked, turning to look at him. "Why do you think, David?"

He looked lost, uncertain. "Did I upset you?" he asked. "When I tried to hug you?"

She felt the tears on her face and pressed her eyes shut, trying to stem them. It didn't work and she looked up at him, his expression as pained as her own. "Why did it have to be me?" she asked no on in particular. "Why did I have to be the one to save you?"

"You feel it too," he said quietly, staring at her.

"It?" she said, feeling small, lost, scared.

He reached out and she couldn't draw back when he caught her shoulders in his hands. "Mary Margaret, I don't know much anymore, not in this world, but what I know is that when it's just you and me, everything feels right." 

"It's just because I saved you," she insisted, trying not to tremble. "You'd feel the same with Kathryn..."

"I don't know Kathryn," he replied, his voice strained. "I don't recognise anything about her. I look at her, and she's a complete stranger." He drew her closer, and leaned down, until he was so close she could feel his warmth. "I know you. You're the only thing that makes any kind of sense here, and I can't lose that."

"Don't," she whispered, her voice breaking.

"Tell me you don't feel anything, and I'll go," he promised, drawing his hands down her arms to clasp hers, making her heart race and her head light. "Tell me you don't want me here and I'll go. Tell me."

She shook her head, tears streaming down her cheeks. "David, don't."

He clasped her hands. "All you have to do is tell me."

She looked up at him, and his eyes were as bright as hers, and she knew, knew and wished she could pull away, but he was right. There was something, something tugging her to him as sure as the tide returned to the shore. But she was married. He was married. It was wrong. It was cruel to both Kathryn and Cameron. He didn't remember his wife, and she didn't feel anything more than fondness for her husband, and David was holding her hands, and she was trembling.

When he leaned down and kissed her, all she could taste was her tears.

"No," she whispered, pulling free of him. "David, go home."

"Mary Margaret," he said, touching her arm.

She turned around, wrapped her arms around herself. "Go to your wife. Tell my husband I went home."

If he said anything more, she didn't hear him. She just walked away, trying to keep herself from falling to pieces.


	25. Chapter 25

Rumpelstiltskin wasn't surprised at the Queen's displeasure.

Her first command, weeks earlier, was to devote himself to his wife. Nothing in his behaviour had suggested otherwise, but by taking his wife into the proximity of David Nolan, he had provided an opening for Snow White and her Prince to interact again, and that just wouldn't do. 

He was in the shop when she paid him a visit, all smiles and charm.

"I didn't expect to see you at the Nolans' last night, Mr Gold," she said, picking up the lamp of her pet genie and examining it. 

Rumpelstiltskin smiled placidly. "They were kind enough to invite my wife and I," he said. "Mary Margaret knows them well, and she did save the man's life after all." He spread his hand in a shrug. "What does it matter to you? I hardly thought you would care what I got up to."

"You should be more attentive of your wife," she said, running her palms along the edge of the counter. "Don't you think it a little odd that she and Mr Nolan both ran out together?" She smiled without it touching her eyes. "I would keep a very close watch on her."

"Well, dear," he said softly, "you're not me. I happen to trust my wife completely. Just because you have a twisted little mind when it comes to friendship doesn't mean she does."

That was a little too provoking, he realised, as she leaned over the counter and grasped his arm. Her eyes fixed on his, and he had barely enough time to drag his mental walls into place before her mind slammed against his, reaching in and twisting. 

Cameron Gold closed up his shop as usual. He returned home late, and a meal was warm in the oven for him. His wife was already in bed when he made his way into the bedroom, curled on her side with a book, the light from the bedside lamp illuminating her prettily. 

He had been neglecting her terribly, he knew. He shed his suit, deposited his shirt in the laundry basket, and when he settled on his side of the bed, he heard her sigh. He knew why. She was a young woman, and sometimes, he forgot that she had needs that he rarely had anymore. 

Cameron Gold left his cane on the floor for once, and turned onto his side, slipping his arm around her waist. Mary Margaret made a soft sound of surprise, which turned to a murmur of appreciation when he kissed her shoulder, her neck. His hand slipped beneath her pyjama top and she rolled in his embrace to claim a kiss.

They knew each other well enough for her to avoid jarring his bad knee, and for him to negotiate her top over her head, throwing it aside. Her arms were around him, and they were about to come together when the front door slammed open with a crash.

"What...?" Cameron lifted his head.

"Just Emma," she whispered, her fingers combing through his hair. "Ignore her."

Emma.

Rumpelstiltskin stared down at his wife, Mary Margaret, Snow White.

He pushed himself off her, back, away, sitting up at the edge of the bed, feeling light-headed. Regina. Regina has sent him back to make his wife more his wife than ever. He ran a trembling hand over his face. It didn't matter that they had done such things dozens of times before his memory returned. He couldn't let it happen again, now. 

"Cam?" Mary Margaret sat up behind him. She sounded worried. "Are you all right?"

"Sorry, dearie," he said hoarsely. "I can't."

Her arm slipped around him from behind and her bare chest pressed to his back. Rumpelstiltskin shuddered when she kissed his bare shoulder. "You were doing so well," she whispered. "Don't you want to at least try?"

He gently pushed her arm aside. "I'm sorry, dearie," he said again, leaning down to grope for his cane. He managed to get to his feet and stumbled blindly to the door. Only when he was there, safely out of reach did he look around. Mary Margaret was sitting forlornly in the middle of their bed, holding a sheet to her chest. "Maybe another night?"

The smile that crossed her face was pained. "Maybe," she said quietly. She curled back under the sheet, and he heard the small stifled sob.

He stepped out of the room, taking his dressing gown with him, and leaned against the doorframe for a moment, catching his breath.

A drink. A drink was what he needed. 

He wasn't the only one.

Emma was pouring herself a measure with an unsteady hand.

"Miss Swan," he murmured, as he stepped into the living room. "Would you pour a second glass?"

She looked at him, her expression drawn. "You too, huh?" she said, taking another of the crystal glasses from the tray and pouring a generous measure. "Problems?"

"You would hardly believe me if I told you," he said, accepting the glass. 

She sprawled down into one of the seats, legs splayed. "Let me guess," she said, raising the glass. "You're cursed and you can't remember who you are?"

He met her eyes. "A real curse isn't forgetting," he said. "It's remembering." He sat down slowly, wincing as his knee protested. "If I might ask something of you..."

"A favour?" She made a face at him. 

His lips twitched. Smart girl. "This isn't for me, dearie," he said. "Mary Margaret may be in need of some female company tomorrow. I think I may have let her down."

Emma's eyes narrowed. "What did you do?" To his mortification, he blushed, and Emma snorted, lips twitching. "Ah."

He scowled, turning the glass in his hands. "What brought you home so late?"

It was her turn to redden. "I was working nights for... for the Sheriff," she said, then knocked back the remainder of the scotch in her glass. "Turns out he wasn't working a second job after all." She made a face. "Unless you count working under the Mayor."

Rumpelstiltskin's eyebrows rose. "Well, well," he murmured. "Our police department really did lie in the Mayor's hands."

Emma rose and fetched the bottle of whisky. "I feel the need to be very drunk," she informed him. "How about you?"

He held out his glass. "That sounds like a stellar idea."


	26. Chapter 26

There were definite advantages to having a female house guest.

For one thing, Emma was someone Mary Margaret could talk to without fear that the other woman would spread what she said around town. Emma wasn’t the sort to gossip, and she definitely wasn’t the type to judge too harshly. 

All the same, Mary Margaret’s words faltered uncomfortably as she admitted what had happened over the course of the past few nights at breakfast. It wasn’t that she intended to say anything, but Cameron had left before she woke, and Emma had a big pot of coffee waiting for her and an expectant look. 

“So he kissed you?”

Mary Margaret nodded, wrapping her hands tightly around her coffee cup. “I know I should have told him to stop before he did, but he was there, and he was smiling, and he was kind, and then Cam…” She took a shaky breath. “Cam isn’t like that.”

Emma reached across the table and covered Mary Margaret’s hand with hers. “It isn’t a crime to be attracted to someone else,” she said. “And you’re not just marching in their and ruining both your marriages, so that’s a lot more than some people would do.”

Mary Margaret looked at her imploringly. “I know it’s stupid,” she said. “I know it is, but I keep dreaming about David, and he and I get along so well, and he makes me smile.”

“But Gold is your husband,” Emma finished quietly. She always called Cameron by his surname, just like everyone else in town. No one ever wanted to remember that he had a forename. Maybe they thought it made him too human. “You love him.”

“I care about him,” Mary Margaret whispered, remembering her conversation with her husband only days earlier. “But it’s like any spark we had is gone. He hardly ever touches me anymore. Last night, I thought…” Her cheeks reddened and she looked down, blinking hard to keep from crying. “He paid attention to me, and then, before we even got anywhere, it was like he was a different person, and he got up and walked away.”

Emma patted her hand. “If it helps, he felt bad about it,” she said. “He came downstairs and we both got wasted. Celebrating being screwed over by our own emotions.”

Mary Margaret looked at her, startled. “He spent the night with you?”

“Whoa!” Emma held up her hands with a laugh. “Not like that! So not like that!” She pulled a face. “God, no.” Her expression softened and she ruefully admitted, “It’s Graham. I caught him climbing out of Regina’s bedroom window.”

Mary Margaret stared at her in shock. “No! Graham and Regina?”

Emma nodded. “The stupid asshole told me he was working at an animal shelter,” she said. “Can you believe that?”

“Well, he technically was working with a bitch,” Mary Margaret said, then squeaked and clapped her hands over her mouth, unable to believe she had said such a thing. “Oh God,” she mumbled, muffled.

Emma gave a shout of laughter. “Where did you learn a grown-up word like that?” she teased, her eyes dancing. 

Mary Margaret glowered at her, lowering her hands, but couldn’t keep her own lips from twitching helplessly. “She is, though,” she said. “She’s got a way of twisting people into doing what she wants, even if they don’t want to.”

Emma wrinkled her nose. “Still, it’s not really a good way to have a relationship,” she said, “especially if Henry’s home. What kind of person makes her boyfriend climb out of the bedroom window after she screws him?”

“Maybe she’s ashamed of him?” Mary Margaret said. “Or maybe it’s the other way around.”

Emma poured herself another cup of coffee. “It’s not like I care, anyway.”

Mary Margaret raised her eyebrows. “Is that why you’re not at all upset by this?”

Emma blushed furiously. “We’re not talking about me,” she said. “This is about you. You and Gold and David and everything.” She picked her mug up. “What are you going to do about it?”

Mary Margaret’s shoulders sagged. It was amazing how exhausted she felt after sleeping like the dead. “I don’t know,” she admitted quietly. “I figured I would avoid him to start with, and hope the crush goes away.”

“How has that been working for you?” Emma asked over the rim of her cup.

Mary Margaret shook her head. “It hasn’t,” she whispered. The dreams had been growing more and more interesting and embarrassing, and she knew for a fact that when she dreamed she talked in her sleep. Poor Cam must at least have an idea of what was going on in her head, even if he didn’t say anything.

“Maybe talk to Gold?” Emma said quietly. “Let him know what’s wrong?”

Mary Margaret was torn between laughing and crying. “I don’t think he would mind,” she confessed, her voice cracking. “He flat out told me that nothing I could do would upset him or shock him.” She sighed. “And I believe him.”

“Even if you were screwing around?” Emma stared at her. “Anyone ever tell you your husband is kind of weird?”

“You’ve heard what people say about him,” Mary Margaret said. “Most people think he’s got a stash of bodies shoved in a cupboard somewhere, wives that he’s got rid of.” She winced. “Don’t tell Henry. The last thing I need is him thinking I’m married to Bluebeard.”

“You’ve got to admit he doesn’t have the best reputation,” Emma said with a crooked smile, “but no, I don’t see a Bluebeard. He doesn’t seem to know what to do with one wife, let alone what to do with a cupboard of them.”

That made Mary Margaret blush again. “It’s not that he doesn’t,” she said, flustered. “It’s just that he…” She covered her face with her hands. “You know what, I think my love life should be off-limits.” She peeked between her fingers. “So, about you and your crush on Graham…”

Emma went as red as her jacket.


	27. Chapter 27

Rumpelstiltskin could not say what compelled him to hide his dagger.

The fact that Regina was paying more attention to him was the greater part of it, but even if she knew what the blade was, there was no chance of it being any use to her. The land without magic was where they were, and that was where they would stay, and no one could compel the Dark One in a land where the magic that was his power didn’t exist.

All the same, he concealed it in the woods, though he was disturbed while digging.

The Sheriff was running wild, babbling about wolves and hunting. Rumpelstiltskin could not help feeling satisfied at the sight of him. The man’s memories were breaking through, which was no surprise given the constant proximity he shared with Miss Swan. 

While Rumpelstiltskin knew it was impossible for him to reveal the truth, there was a kinship between the wolf boy and Snow White’s daughter. He hoped that it might be enough to encourage her to believe. 

Without encouraging or discouraging the man, Rumpelstiltskin let him go on his way, and smile quietly to himself when he heard the call of the wolf in the forest. There were wolves in Storybrooke, if people only knew where to look.

He returned his shovel and boots to the car, then sat down in the driver’s seat. He seldom ventured out into the woods, because there had never been any need. Business came to him if it was urgent, and any other matters could be dealt with in town, but now, with Regina’s focus shifting, he knew he had to have as much of an advantage as he could. 

There was a map in his glove compartment, and he unfolded it, studying it.

Some cabins dotted the woods around the town. One of them was his own, and he knew he and Mary Margaret had frequented it several times in the past. There were few other buildings, but one house caught his eye, larger than the rest. 

Edward Hatter, the rich recluse.

Rumpelstiltskin rubbed his chin thoughtfully. If he was right, then he knew exactly who he would find there. There were few people that Regina grant privacy and solitude to. If the man had been put out in the backside of the woods, there had to be a reason for it.

That made up his mind for him, and he started the car, setting out in the direction of the Hatter house.

He was within sight of the building when he saw curtains at an upper window twitch aside. A face was briefly visible, then gone. The house itself looked like it was deserted, with leaves piled up around the porch and a swing with chains so rusted, it barely moved in the breeze.

He stopped the car outside the house, getting out and making his way up onto the porch. Like the swing, the door knocker was stiff with age and disuse, so he elected to rap on the wood with the handle of his cane. 

There was no immediate answer, so he knocked again, this time more sharply. 

He knew that there was someone in the house, and he wasn’t willing to leave until he had at least confirmation of his suspicions.

Finally, the door opened, and Rumpelstiltskin smiled. 

It was always a pleasure to be right. 

“Am I addressing Mr Hatter?” he said in his politest voice.

The man on the other side scowled. He looked almost as Rumpelstiltskin could recall him from the forest. There had been an encounter, a crossing of paths, and the little world jumper had proven to be useless in his quest. Not that the man had ever known whom he was talking to. 

“No,” he said, shutting the door over.

Rumpelstiltskin wedged his cane in the door and smiled without baring his teeth. “Mr… Jefferson, then?” he murmured.

The door opened a crack. “What did you say?”

“You heard me, boy,” Rumpelstiltskin said quietly. 

The dark eyes gleamed. There was a madness in them, a madness that spoke of keen obsession and danger. “I heard you,” he said. He bared his teeth, raising his head, revealing a band of scarring at his throat. “Did she send you?”

“Who?” Rumpelstiltskin murmured.

Jefferson hissed through his teeth. “No, no, no,” he said. “No answering questions with questions. If you know who I am, then you know who would do the sending.”

Rumpelstiltskin inclined his head. “I know,” he agreed, “and she didn’t send me. No one sends me.”

“She came to you yesterday.” The door was wider now, and the man was looming over him. He was taller and broader than Rumpelstiltskin remembered. “I saw her go to your shop. I saw her leaving you there.”

Ah, a watcher. No wonder, really, if he could remember now. If he could always remember, no wonder he stayed far from a world of people who had forgotten.

“Are you hers?” Rumpelstiltskin asked, watching the man’s face.

The howl of mirth was tied into an expression of desperate anguish. “If I could tear her face off with my bare hands, I would do it,” Jefferson snarled, flecks of spittle flying from his lips. “But I can’t, because the curse is hers and she makes it do as she wills and I can’t.”

“Not directly,” Rumpelstiltskin said with a slow smile. “But you watch. You see everything. I think we could help one another.”

Jefferson bent close to stare him in the eyes. “You have a happy life down there,” he said in a low, dangerous whisper. “You have people who are important to you. People she would hurt to get to you, if she knew that you remembered.”

Rumpelstiltskin smiled darkly, baring his teeth. “I have no one important to me in Storybrooke,” he said.

Jefferson continued to stare at him, then nodded and stepped back, opening the door. “Then I’ll listen to you,” he said, “if you’ll give me your name.”

“You already know who I am,” Rumpelstiltskin replied quietly. 

“I do, and that’s why I’m asking,” Jefferson said, folding his arms. “What’s your name?”

Rumpelstiltskin spread his arms in a mocking bow. “Rumpelstiltskin.”


	28. Chapter 28

Mary Margaret looked at the pages of her wedding album.

Graham's visit to her classroom that morning had disconcerted her. When he said that he couldn't remember meeting her, or meeting anyone they knew, she had dismissed it at first, but the more she thought on it, the more difficulty she had making connections.

Cameron was the one solid fact she knew: she was alone and miserable and remembered him finding her mournfully knocking back some kind of cheap shots in the pub. What bewildered her was that she couldn't put her finger on the exact date. It was some time ago, but she was sure that she should remember the exact date she met the man who was her husband. 

The only person she could recall meeting properly was Emma.

It was hardly a meeting she was likely to forget, what with Regina dragging the poor woman into the classroom so many weeks before. Still, she was glad that the Mayor had done so. It was nice to have female company that wasn't terrified of coming near her because of her husband. 

She turned the pages of the photo album. It wasn't some fancy formal thing, just a basic, white-covered book. She could remember sticking the foil letters onto the cover herself, picking out both their names and the date in shimmering gold. Cameron had shaken his head over the choice of colour, but she knew it amused him. The year had been worn away, but the day and month still remained.

They had been together for close to five years. That was something she knew with certainty, but neither of them had aged a day. Cameron still looked as solemn as he did in the photographs, perhaps a little more silver in his hair, and though her own hair was a little shorter, she looked exactly the same.

She set the book down when the telephone shrilled.

"Hello?" she said.

"Mary Margaret?"

Mary Margaret frowned. It sounded like Emma, but she didn't sound good at all. She sounded like she was on the verge of tears. "Emma? Are you okay?"

"Can you come to the hospital?"

Mary Margaret searched for her keys as she asked, "What's wrong? Has something happened?"

"Yeah," Emma's voice broke. "Please, come quickly."

The phone disconnected before Mary Margaret could ask anything more, and she pushed her feet into the first shoes she could find, racing out to the car. She was halfway to the hospital before she realised she hadn't even bothered to lock the door of the house, but that didn't seem important at all. 

She parked as close to the entrance as she could, rushing into the ER. Emma was there, pacing back and forth. 

"Emma?"

The woman whirled around. She was pale and her eyes were red from tears, her arms wrapped tightly around her middle. There was a bruise on her brow, and she looked shaken. Mary Margaret didn't give a damn if she wasn't a touchy feely person. She ran across the hall and hugged Emma as tightly as she could. 

She didn't know who was more shocked when Emma clung onto her, like a distressed child clinging to their parent.

"What happened?" she asked, stroking Emma's hair comfortingly. "What's wrong?"

"Graham," Emma whispered. Her voice was hoarse, trembling. "He's gone." Mary Margaret drew back in shock, looking at her. Emma's face crumpled in grief. "I-I tried resus, but it didn't work and the ambulance... it was too late, they said it was too late."

"Oh God," Mary Margaret whispered, hugging her again. "What happened?"

"Heart," Emma whispered, clinging to her so hard Mary Margaret could feel Emma's fingers digging into her back. "It looks like heart failure. He was fine and talking and we... we kissed, and then he fell, and his heart..." She was crying, shaking in Mary Margaret's arms. "Was it my fault? Did I wind him up too much?"

"No," Mary Margaret said urgently. "Not at all. You couldn't have known he had a heart condition."

Emma made a small, agonised sound, folding down to sit in one of the hard chairs that lined the waiting room. Mary Margaret sat with her, reaching out to clasp her hand. "His heart," Emma whispered. "He said he didn't have one, and now, his heart killed him."

Mary Margaret used her sleeve to gently wipe the tears from Emma's cheeks. Her own eyes were wet too. Graham was a good man. He'd always been. He always had a smile and a nod for anyone who crossed his path. He was young, and now, he was gone. 

"He wasn't well when I saw him this morning," she said quietly. "Maybe he was sicker than we all thought?"

"Maybe," Emma said.

It was some time before Doctor Whale emerged from the ER, murmuring meaningless condolences, and reaffirming that there was nothing that could have been done. His heart, it seemed, had given up. As he spoke, Emma drew herself back, sitting up straighter, her breathing evening out. Still, she held onto Mary Margaret's hand tightly.

"How about we head home?" Mary Margaret finally suggested quietly. "I don't think sitting around here is going to do you any good."

Emma nodded, withdrawing her hand from Mary Margaret's to scrub at her face with both palms. "Home," she agreed quietly.


	29. Chapter 29

Regina was changing the rules of the game.

Rumpelstiltskin realised that the moment Mary Margaret met him at the front door. She only did so when there was something important to be said. It was seldom good news either, and given how red her eyes were, trepidation sank into his bones like lead.

He put out his hand without even thinking, squeezing her shoulder. “Has something happened, dearie?”

She nodded, wetting her lips, gathering the words. “Sheriff Graham passed away this evening,” she said in a trembling voice. Rumpelstiltskin felt as if he had been struck. “It… he had a heart attack or something. They don’t know what yet.”

A heart attack. A heart attack in one of the men who had been part of the Queen’s unfortunate collection. “He died?”

Mary Margaret nodded, then stepped closer, clinging onto him. 

Rumpelstiltskin’s hand rested on the back of her head and he stared blindly across the hall. It had been his hope that Graham’s returning memories would have been a start in convincing the Saviour that she was just that. It couldn’t be coincidence that the very day his memories were breaking through, he died of a heart-related condition. 

“I saw him this afternoon,” he said, remembering the fraught Sheriff dashing through the forest. “He didn’t look his best.”

“He came to my class,” Mary Margaret whispered hoarsely. “He was… ranting about knowing me in a past life, that he thought he had tried to hurt me.” She lifted her face to look at him. “Cam, I should have told him to go to the hospital. I should have taken him.”

Rumpelstiltskin brushed his hand along her cheek, wiping away fresh tears. “Sometimes,” he said in a dull voice, “it’s just our time. Even if you had taken him to the hospital, who’s to say it wouldn’t have happened there instead?”

Mary Margaret turned, looking anxiously into the house, then confided in a whisper, “Emma blames herself.”

“Emma?” He stared at her. “Why would she do that?”

“She was with him when it happened,” Mary Margaret said in a low voice. Rumpelstiltskin started forward. He had to speak to her, to find out what had happened, but Mary Margaret caught his arm, pulled him back. “Leave her be, Cam,” she said with such stern finality that he could see Snow White looking out at him. “She’s had a rough night, and I got her to get some rest. She needs it.”

He looked at her. “She was quite taken with him, wasn’t she?” he said. Mary Margaret’s pained expression told him all he needed to know. He drew her head down and kissed her brow gently. “Go and get some rest, dearie. I’ll make some calls. There are people who will need to know.”

She drew away reluctantly. “Will you come to bed?” she asked quietly.

“Soon, soon,” he murmured, walking as briskly as he could towards the telephone. She watched him for a moment, then made her way up the stairs in silence.

He had no intention of joining her. Grief made people do foolish things, and when they were human, those foolish things involved intimacy. He neither needed nor wanted that complication, and if she needed it so much, he knew where she would go. It might prove the key to bringing her and her Prince together.

He made the necessary phone calls, though they were few: the watchman in the apartment block he lived in, The Mirror to be sure everyone knew even if it did come from Regina’s mouthpiece, the hospital for more information. 

That done, he sat heavily in the armchair, without bothering to switch the lights on.

There was enough light cutting through the front window, and he didn’t need illumination to think. It wasn’t coincidence that Emma and the late Graham had been growing closer, despite his affair with Regina. Nor was it coincidence that his memories had returned. The two matters could not be unrelated to his demise.

He was still sitting there an hour later, when he heard movement on the stairs.

Emma Swan was making her way down as quietly as she could, and when she saw him sitting there, she froze. “I thought you were in bed,” she muttered, turning as if to return the way she came. 

“And you wished to be alone?” he asked quietly.

Emma hesitated, her hand on the banister. “Kinda?” she said. She sounded tired, lost.

“Come and sit, dearie,” he said, rising carefully from the seat. “If you want to talk, you can, or if you prefer silence, I was taking some of that myself.” 

She was motionless for a moment, then turned and walked over to the other chair. It was the one Mary Margaret used more often than not, so there was a woollen shawl draped over it, which she pulled down around herself.

For a long while, she stared blankly at the empty fireplace, her fingers toying with the fringe of the shawl. Even by the wan light of the street lamp, Rumpelstiltskin could see that she was unusually pale. There was a dark bruise on one side of her face too, though he hardly imagined that came from Graham.

“Regina’s a bitch,” she finally said in a small voice.

Rumpelstiltskin nodded slowly. “She is that,” he said. “Is she responsible for…” He touched his brow, mirroring her bruise.

Emma lifted a hand to her head, then grimaced and nodded. “We… had a disagreement,” she said. Her breath trembled. “Graham made a choice. She wasn’t happy about it.”

Rumpelstiltskin closed his eyes for a moment. No. Regina didn’t like to share her toys, and having one of her toys turn on her would have been enough to make her act rashly. She might not have even known about Graham’s memories. “She has quite the temper.”

Emma’s lips twitched weakly. “Oh, don’t worry. I got in a shot as well.” She pulled the shawl more snugly around her. “Did Mary Margaret tell you?” He nodded and Emma sighed sadly. “Figures.”

“He was a good man, Miss Swan,” Rumpelstiltskin murmured. 

“I know,” she replied quietly.


	30. Chapter 30

It wasn’t the best of times.

Emma wasn’t one to show her emotions, but Mary Margaret could tell she was grieving for Graham the only way she knew how. The walls that had come down enough to let Graham close had been built up again, and she threw herself into her Deputy duties, filling the void that the Sheriff’s death had left. 

On the other side, Cameron was even more reticent than before. He spent hours at night poring over books and maps, the subjects ones she had no idea about, and if she so much as suggested that he join her in bed, she knew she would only be waved away.

She couldn’t remember the last time they had made love.

It was a long time. 

Definitely before Emma’s arrival. 

Once more, that niggling, worried worm of jealousy twisted. Cameron and Emma got on so well, with the same abrupt sense of humour and tendency to keep any problems to themselves. Emma was a good-looking woman. It wasn’t inconceivable that her presence was the reason for Cameron’s waning affections.

Mary Margaret didn’t like to think such things. She didn’t like suspecting her husband, especially not when her own thoughts kept wandering to the one man who had shown her affection in the last few months. She didn’t like the fact that the more Cameron turned from her, the more tempting it was to go to David.

They still talked, occasionally, when they ran into one another at Granny’s, and she knew he still didn’t remember Kathryn. The only recollections that had come back so far were the memories of his father, whom he didn’t get along with. 

He didn’t consider himself married.

That was making it even more difficult to dissuade him, especially when she knew for a fact that he had moved out of the house he shared with Kathryn to try and get his head together. He was staying at Granny’s, and had been for several days. 

He didn’t have a wife in his memory, and the way Cameron was behaving, it was as if she didn’t have a husband. 

Maybe that was why she went. 

Maybe it was just the need to have someone hug her and tell her it would be all right.

Maybe it was the glass of Cameron’s best Scotch that she had downed on an empty stomach.

Whatever it was, she managed to sneak past Granny and into the guest house. There weren’t going to be many guests, so she tapped each door in turn. The fifth door opened and he was there, and she stepped forward and hugged him as tightly as she could. 

David stood stock-still, too startled to do anything at first, then he was hugging her back like it was the end of the world. He stroked her hair, her shoulders, her back, his hands broad and gentle and she lifted her face to look at him. She knew it was wrong and stupid and she had a husband, and David didn’t know who he was, but she kissed him all the same.

For the first time in weeks, months, someone was touching her like she was worth a damn, and she was almost sobbing as David lavished his affections on her. Between the door and the bed, their clothing had ended up in a scattered trail across the floor, and he laid her down like she was the most precious thing he’d ever seen. 

It was wrong. She knew it was. She was taking advantage of a man who didn’t remember who he was, but she couldn’t say no, not when he looked at her like he did, when he touched her like he did.

It was wrong, but she didn’t care, just for a little while.

Not until he gasped out a name, and it wasn’t hers.

Both of them went still and he stared at her like an animal caught in the headlights.

They broke apart, and he was off the bed, halfway across the room, his hands rising to clasp at his head. “Oh God.”

“David?” she whispered.

“Oh God, oh God, oh God…” He turned around, looking at her in anguish. “Kathryn. I remember Kathryn.” He sagged down to sit on the window ledge, bracing one hand against the frame. “Kathryn. My wife.” He looked at her, and the devastation in his expression felt like he had struck her. “Why did you come to me, Mary Margaret? You have a husband! You knew I had a wife!”

Mary Margaret’s eyes burned and she scrambled from the bed, gathering up her clothing, pulling it on as quickly as she could. “I thought… you said…” 

She shook her head. He was right. She had taken advantage of a sick man to get some affection, and that wasn’t fair or right, and he had every reason to be angry. Her fingers fumbled with her buttons and she saw tears that were falling from her cheeks leaving dark spots on her blouse.

“The connection,” she whispered. “I thought…” She gave a small sob. “I didn’t think. I’m sorry, David.”

He rose, stumbled to the bathroom, and she heard the faucet running. He emerged a moment later, his face damp, and he looked at her. The anger was gone, but there was something else there, something sad and hurt and she wished more than anything she hadn’t come.

“The connection was real enough,” he said, his voice heavy. “God knows why, but I can’t stop thinking about you.”

“What do we do?” she asked in a small, plaintive voice. “I-I think I love you, David.”

He raised a hand as if to ward off her words. “Don’t,” he whispered. “Not now. Kathryn. I have Kathryn. I can’t think about you. I can’t care about you.” He shook his head. “We shouldn’t see each other. At all. That’s the only way to stop this.”

He was right.

She slipped her shoes back on and fumbled with the door handle, her hands shaking so badly that he had to open the door for her. He didn’t look at her, stepping out of the way and she smothered another small, pained sound, fleeing back out into the night.


	31. Chapter 31

The game had changed. 

The board had been turned and pieces had been scattered. 

Rumpelstiltskin knew that Regina was protecting what was hers, and in doing so, there would be casualties and even fatalities. Mary Margaret and her Prince were proving a difficulty now that his false memories has awakened. 

He had wondered if perhaps David Nolan’s coma had protected him from the curse, but it seemed that Regina had planted memories in his mind, as she had in everyone else’s, and that they had simply awaited a trigger moment. He did not know for certain what that moment was, but given how distressed Mary Margaret had been the night David returned to his wife, he could hazard a guess.

On top of that, with the Sheriff’s death, Emma’s strongest supporter was gone. 

There was no true authority to go against the Mayor, and he knew he had to work fast. Emma still wore the Deputy’s badge, and that set his mind whirring, especially when she came home in a rage one night. Regina, it seemed, was trying to take the police department back into her own fair hands.

It didn’t take much effort to find the relevant part of the town charter and to point out to Miss Swan that she officially had the right to stand for Sheriff, as she had held the position for at least a fortnight. The fierce pleasure in her expression suggested that it was going to be a mighty battle.

Regina came to his shop the very next day.

Rumpelstiltskin could see the rage bubbling just below the surface. It was no surprise that she was growing frustrated when one of her little toys wasn’t playing as she hoped it would. All the same, he made sure to keep the counter between them.

She stalked towards him. “Are you really going up against me?” she asked, dark eyes glittering unpleasantly.

“Not directly,” he replied with the slightest of smiles. “We are, after all, both invested in the common good.” He looked across the counter at her, the smile dropped from his lips as he looked at the woman who was the Queen. “We’re just picking different sides.”

She was leaning closer, so he stepped back just enough as she said, “Well, I think you picked a really slow horse this time. It’s not like you to back a loser.”

Rumpelstiltskin stifled a quiet laugh. “She hasn’t lost yet,” he murmured.

“She will,” Regina said confidently. 

Rumpelstiltskin leaned that little bit closer. It was a risk, but she had come into his domain and twisted him up too many times for caution now. “Never underestimate someone who’s acting for their child,” he said, almost soft and kind, but for the barb beneath.

Her hand snared his wrist, and he was alert enough to lower his eyes. Contact and eye-contact. That was the nature of the magic. “He’s not her child,” she hissed, leaning closer, trying to catch his eyes. “Not legally.”

“Now who’s trifling with technicalities?” he murmured, pulling his hand against her steely grip. He could feel the magic twisting at him, trying to find a grip, and he drew a breath, then raised his eyes as he said, “Please stop harassing me, dear. I know you aren’t happy, but some of us do have work to be getting on with.”

Her hand leapt from his wrist as if an electric current had run through it. She stepped back, staring at him, her lips parting as if to launch some scathing counter attack. There was also something else there that he knew well: fear. 

“Something troubling you, dear?” he asked quietly, “or can I get on with my work?”

She bared her teeth once, feral, then turned on her heel and stalked from the shop, his bell jangling wildly in her wake. 

He knew she would have ripped his mind apart and put it back together as she wanted it, if he had not created that barricade. It was tantamount to standing up and declaring exactly who he was and what he remembered, but he could no more have her violating his mind than he could return to his home and lie with a woman who believed herself to be his wife. 

It also made it much easier to slip down to her offices and arrange for the little misadventure that would make Emma look the hero. He didn’t stay to watch the fireworks, walking briskly back towards his shop, but he heard the sirens wailing and smiled quietly as he carefully wiped any evidence from his hands.

The bell rattled when the door was thrown open. 

He continued to wipe his hands on his handkerchief. “Loads of visitors today,” he observed, looking up at Miss Swan. “I do hope you’re not going to break my little bell.”

“You set the fire,” she said, walking towards him. Her hair was blackened with smoke, and there was soot on her face, which was reddened too. 

“I’ve been right here, Miss Swan,” he murmured, watching her. 

She dropped a lanolin-soaked cloth onto the counter, looking at him with bald accusation in her eyes, daring him to deny it. She knew he had been working with the substance and he knew she didn’t want to hear it if it was true.

“There’s been construction work going on at city hall,” he murmured. “There’s loads of flammable solvents used in the trade.”

She looked shocked, shaken, even disappointed. It seemed that, like Mary Margaret, she was the only person in town who paid no heed to his reputation. “Why did you do it?”

“If I did it,” he said quietly, meeting her eyes, “that would be because you cannot win without something big, something like, oh, I don’t know. Being a hero in a fire.”

She looked at him in horror. “I could have left her there,” she said.

He returned her gaze, smiling quietly. A child of a dragon-slayer and a renegade Princess wouldn’t do such a thing. “Not the type,” he said.

She stepped back from him. “I can’t go along with this.”

Good and noble and brave. So like her father.

It was almost a shame that she was just as naïve too.

“You already have,” he said quietly. 

Emma drew away from him then and turned and walked away.

Rumpelstiltskin watched her go. For a brief, shining moment, she had considered him a good ally. It was just a pity that good allies were unwilling to do what needed to be done.


	32. Chapter 32

Something had happened between Emma and her husband.

Mary Margaret could tell.

She didn’t know what it was, and she knew it was stupid and unfair to be jealous that they had enough of a connection for a break to be so noticeable. She had no right to suspect them of anything, not after everything she had done. 

All the same, they didn’t speak over the breakfast table on the day of the debate, and Emma walked out of the door without so much as looking at him. He watched her go, and there was such an odd look in his eyes.

Mary Margaret rose and went to the sink. 

She had no right to be upset, to think that Cameron might be cheating on her. She had no right. She was the one who had fallen into bed with a married man. She was the one who had broken their wedding vows. 

She heard him rise from the table. “Will you be coming to the debate, dearie?” he asked. 

“Of course,” she said, turning on the faucet to fill the sink. 

She had helped in the campaign to support Emma, even before her husband suggested that she should, and Emma was her friend. That was why she knew her suspicions were ridiculous. Emma was a good friend, and she would never, ever do anything to jeopardise that.

He walked closer, then paused, watching her from less than five paces away. “Is something the wrong?” he asked quietly. The concern in his voice made her press her lips together and close her eyes. She heard the tap-step of him moving a little closer. “Mary Margaret?”

“Is something going on?” she asked, her voice trembling. “Between you and Emma?”

He exhaled so explosively that she flinched. “Something going on?” he echoed. “You believe I would… with Emma?”

Her hands were shaking as she washed one of the plates. “She’s upset about something.”

“Indeed,” he said, taking another step towards her. “But believe me, dearie, I would never look for someone to warm my bed.” He laughed, an odd, strained sound. “Your dear Emma is too much of a firecracker for an old man like me.” He touched her shoulder soothingly. “I prefer quieter, smart, bookish brunettes.”

The plate she was holding slipped, dropping back into the sink, and she gave a small sob, bringing her hands up to cover her face. “Oh, God.”

He withdrew his hand as if she had stuck him away. “Dearie?”

She turned her head to look at him. “Why are you being so good to me?” she asked, her voice breaking unbearably. “Cam, you know… you know I went to him.”

He looked back at her, quiet and solemn. “I know, dearie,” he said quietly. “But I also know you came home to me.”

It would have been so much easier if he had looked at her with contempt or shock or anything that wasn’t placid understanding. She groped for the edge of the sink, leaning against it heavily, her vision blurred with tears.

“Why?” she whispered, the word catching in her throat.

“I thought it would make you happy,” he said simply. “I’m not a young man anymore, dearie, and you’re young. You have needs that I can’t provide. I told you I wouldn’t be upset at anything you did, and I stand by that.”

“Happy?” It came out as a tangled laughing sob. “Happy? I’m not happy!”

He lifted his hand, gently brushed her cheek. “I know,” he said sadly. He hesitated, then offered her his arms, despite everything she had just said, everything he had just admitted, and she fell against him, sobbing. 

His hand gently stroked over her hair, over and over, soothingly, and he murmured nonsense to her as she wept.

It was only when she gathered wit enough to take his handkerchief and wipe her eyes that she laid the truth bare completely. “I love him,” she whispered. 

Cameron’s hand went still, then he replied quietly, “I know.”

She looked up at him. “You’re a good man,” she whispered. “Too good for me.”

“I wouldn’t say that,” he murmured. He brushed his hand against her cheek. “Come along, dearie. We should get to the town hall. Emma will need your support.” He smiled briefly. “I know she takes your good opinion of her very seriously.”

Mary Margaret ran some cool water into her hands from the faucet and splashed her cheeks, fetching a fresh hand-towel to dry them. “She’s a better woman than I am,” she said. She looked at Cameron. “Do you think she has a chance?”

He smiled quietly. “I wouldn’t have helped her if I didn’t think she had a chance.”

She managed a weak smile.

He drove them down to City Hall, and while he parked, she hurried behind the scenes to find Emma. Mary Margaret was unsurprised to find her pacing anxiously back and forth, occasionally peeking out through the gap in the curtain. 

“Emma?”

“I’m not going to win,” Emma said, turning back from the curtain.

“What are you talking about?” Mary Margaret asked. “Everybody’s talking about what you did in the fire.”

Emma shook her head. “I can’t beat Regina at this, not the way she fights. Watch and see.”

Mary Margaret could see how disheartened she was, and rather than think on her own troubles, she knew she could at least comfort Emma. “Is this really just about beating Regina?” she asked.

“It’s just…” Emma glanced through the curtains again, and Mary Margaret caught the glimpse of a child in the front row.

“Henry?”

Emma looked like a soldier about to go on the last stand. “I want to show him that good can actually win,” she said.

Mary Margaret touched her arm. “That’s for him. Why do you want to win it for you?”

Emma looked down, then back, so vulnerable, so uncertain. “That is why,” she said. “I want to show him that a hero can win, because if I’m not a hero, and I’m not the saviour, what part do I have in his life?” She looked warily at Mary Margaret, as if she’d said too much. “Okay. There it is.”

Mary Margaret smiled. Honesty always was one of Emma’s best traits. “There it is,” she agreed.

Emma glanced through the curtain again. She took a breath, then looked at Mary Margaret. “I have to make a stand,” she said. She looked hopeful, nervous, worried. “You’ll stand by me, whatever I do?”

Mary Margaret squeezed her hand. “Of course.”


	33. Chapter 33

There was something delightful in seeing carefully laid out plans come to fruition.

Of course, Emma was not quite ready to speak to him again for the time being, Mary Margaret was horrified that he had risked Emma’s life for the sake of playing the election game, to say nothing of the fact that Regina was spitting nails thanks to the new Sheriff being outwith her control. 

Still, the Saviour was now the law-monger in town, and had no qualms about facing down the Mayor, the Queen. Even if his household was discreetly giving him the cold shoulder, and his enemy was circling like a lioness waiting for the right moment, it was worth it to know that he had a tentative ally with some measure of legitimate authority in town.

Sheriff Swan was taking her position seriously.

Rumpelstiltskin wondered at her keenness. It wasn’t simply out of respect for Graham or the need to rile Regina, or even to prove herself to her boy. He wondered if it was perhaps the first time she had felt she really had a place and a position that was hers.

With time came tolerance, and by and by, she wasn’t glowering at him over the breakfast table anymore. He knew she had come closer to forgiving him when she finally broached the subject of Mary Margaret.

His wife was heartsick, even though she tried her best to act otherwise. He knew she was doing her utmost to avoid the man she had fallen in love with, and that David Nolan was trying his best to ignore her too, but there were some kinds of love that were far too powerful to ignore forever. 

He suggested that she and Emma take time together, even go out to the cabin for a day or so, and Emma jumped at the chance for some time off. The affection between the two was almost as powerful as the link between Snow and her true love, even if Mary Margaret and Emma still could not begin to imagine why.

That was why he was at home, alone, when there was a rap at the door.

Rumpelstiltskin was not used to having visitors come to his home, and could not have been more surprised when he opened the door and found Kathryn Nolan there, sheltered from late-afternoon rain by her umbrella. The storm had swept in without warning, and it looked like it had caught her off-guard. All the same, she looked well, but tired around the eyes. 

“Mrs Nolan,” he said, trying to conceal his frown. “Can I help you?”

She smiled briefly. “I think you may be able to,” she said. “May I come in?”

He pulled the door open a little wider. “Of course,” he said, indicating for her to go into the living room. “Would you like some tea or coffee or anything?”

“Coffee would be perfect,” she said, conscientiously placing her umbrella in the umbrella stand, rather than dripping all over the floor. 

By the time he returned from the kitchen, she was sitting in one of the armchairs in the dining room, her raincoat left hanging neatly in the hall. She was looking around with interest at the photographs and ornaments.

“So,” he said, setting down the tray with the cups of coffee on it. “How can I help?”

She accepted one of the cups. “You know David was friends with your wife,” she said, adding half a teaspoon of sugar to her cup. 

He schooled his smile into a mild one. “She did spend quite a lot of time with him, when she was volunteering at the hospital,” he agreed, “though I think that lately, she hasn’t been seeing so much of him.”

“No,” she agreed, “she hasn’t.” She looked down at her cup, then up at him. “I’m not blind, Mr Gold, and though some people may think it, I’m not stupid. David hasn’t been himself since he came out of the coma, not even when his memory came back. He tries to be, and God knows, I wanted him to be, but he’s not my husband, not the husband I remember.”

Rumpelstiltskin wrapped his hand around his own cup, gazing into it. “And you think I can be of assistance somehow?”

“Don’t pretend you don’t know that David liked your wife,” she said so abruptly that he looked up, startled. “I saw them together at the party, and whenever they run into one another, I’ve seen how they look at each other. They run away from each other so fast, if I didn’t know better, I’d say something was going on.”

Rumpelstiltskin set his cup down. “Yes,” he agreed quietly. “I was aware of it. I was also aware of the fact that my wife feels the same way about him, as he does of her.”

Kathryn exhaled a breath that he hadn’t realised she was holding. “Oh.” She took a sip of the coffee, then said, “I can’t help noticing you’re not upset about this.”

Rumpelstiltskin laced his fingers together. “You may have spotted that I’m not the youngest man in the world,” he murmured. “Mary Margaret has overlooked the fact for a long time, but she’s still a young woman with a young woman’s passions. What kind of husband would I be if I tried to make her anything but that which she is?”

Kathryn cradled her cup in her hands. “So what do we do?” she asked quietly. “He’s still my husband and she’s still your wife, even if David is… he’s himself, but there’s something different, something not quite the way it was before. We used to be us, but now, it feels like we’re very much him and me.”

He looked at her pensively. 

For the first time in almost as long as he could remember, someone had approached him without asking anything of him. All she sought was to understand the situation they were both in with no demands of him, and no selfish requests. She had not even asked him to keep his wife away from her husband. A wise woman, this Kathryn Nolan, as clever as Princess Abigail of the house of Midas. 

“What would make you happy?” he asked.

She looked down at her coffee, then back at him. “You’re the first person who has asked me that since David came back,” she said quietly. Her smile was a tremulous flicker across her lips. “And I don’t even know.”

Rumpelstiltskin leaned back in his chair. He wet his lower lip thoughtfully with the tip of his tongue. “Do you want your husband to stay with you?”

She smiled again, a little more strongly. “He’s not my husband anymore,” she said. “I want him to be happy. Both of them to be happy, and if it’s with each other, who am I to stand in the way of that?”

“What will you do, then?”

She shook her head. “I don’t know,” she replied, then laughed quietly. “I can’t believe we’re discussing our spouses’ love lives, as if we have a say in the matter.”

Rumpelstiltskin couldn’t help smiling. “You have a smart head on your shoulders, Mrs Nolan,” he said. He leaned forward again, looking at her. “But what about you? Isn’t there something you want? Something you wish you could do? Something that is nothing to do with your husband?”

For a moment, she looked thoughtful. “I always wanted to study law,” she admitted with a sweetly shy smile. “I’ve been looking at schools in Boston.”

He smiled more broadly. “I can help you there,” he said. “I dabble in law myself. You no doubt have been out of education for some time, but if you should need any help in refreshing your knowledge or even looking at basic law, I would be more than happy to help.”

She looked surprised. “That’s sweet of you, Mr Gold,” she said. 

He chuckled. “Don’t let word get out,” he said. “I have a reputation to uphold.”

She mimed locking her lips. “You have my word.”


	34. Chapter 34

“I don’t understand,” Mary Margaret said.

Cameron didn’t turn around from the stove. He was frying some bacon and eggs. The sleeves of his dressing gown were pushed up above his elbows, and he occasionally frowned when fat hissed and spat on his skin. 

“It’s quite simple, dearie,” he said, flipping an egg. “You and your friend are both taken with each other. Mrs Nolan and I agree we would rather not feel like anyone’s second choice. Better that we’re all happy than acrimonious, don’t you think?”

Mary Margaret stared at him. “You’re serious?”

“Oh, completely.”

“Cam!” she exclaimed, reaching over the grasp his shoulder. “Will you at least look at me?”

He did so, his expression calm and serious. “Do you really think I would joke about such a thing?” he said. “I know I’m not the best of husbands, and Mrs Nolan herself has said that her husband never really came back after his accident. Would you rather we all kept pretending and made ourselves miserable?”

“David would never agree,” she protested. “We can’t break up two marriages…”

“We’re not breaking up anything, dearie,” Cameron said with infuriating patience. “She will be speaking to her husband, just as I’m speaking to you. Whether or not you and David choose to do anything is entirely up to you.” He inclined his head. “Now, if you could hand me the plate, I’ll dish up.”

She couldn’t think of any way to argue with him over breakfast as they ate. To have a husband who was giving her leave to have an affair had been shocking enough, but to know that Kathryn felt the same way was leaving her dazed.

There was a sense there, she realised. 

After all, if David had been missing her half as much as she had been missing him, then no doubt Kathryn couldn’t help but notice.

All the same, she could hardly believe it was true, not until David telephoned her that evening when she got home from school. He sounded as bewildered about it all as she did, but they agreed they should meet and talk. 

She looked askance at Cameron, who merely waved her away with a knowing smile. He was busying himself with cleaning the cabinets in the living room. “Run along,” he said. “I have a lot of cleaning up to do while Miss Swan is on duty.” He slanted her a mischievous look. “Her limbs seem to get everywhere when she is here.”

“Cam, if I go…”

“I won’t take it personally in the least,” he said, waving his fingers. “Now, off with you.”

Mary Margaret pulled on her coat and hat, pausing in the doorway. He made no move to stop her and did not call after her. Her knees were trembling as she got behind the wheel of the car and drove down to Granny’s, which has seemed an appropriately neutral meeting spot.

David was already there, sitting in a booth, and he rose as she approached. They stared at one another for what felt like forever, only shaking themselves when Ruby approached and asked if they wanted anything. 

“Camomile tea,” Mary Margaret said. Anything that was calming was good. Her heart felt like it was trying to break out of her chest. She slid down to sit in the booth and looked across the table at David. “So… did she tell you?”

“That they spoke. In depth,” David agreed. He fidgeted, his hands resting on the table, first in fists, then flat, then in fists again. “I find it kind of hard to believe.”

Mary Margaret laughed shakily. “Oh, I’m right there with you,” she agreed. “This isn’t how marriage is supposed to go.”

“So what do we do?” David asked, finally settling on lacing his hands together. His knuckles were going white. He wanted to take her hand, she realised. “I mean, it’s crazy, but if both of them think it’s better this way…?”

She shook her head. “I don’t know,” she said, spreading her hand on the table. The simple gold band Cameron gave her on their wedding day was still shining there. “We’re still married. We’re not splitting anything up.”

They both fell silent as Ruby brought her drink over.

Only when she left did David untangle his hands, reach out, and touch Mary Margaret’s hand, covering her wedding band with his own fingers. “Do you want to listen to them?” he asked quietly. 

Mary Margaret trembled. She didn’t know if it was his touch or his words, but she couldn’t look away from their linked hands.

“Well, well. Isn’t this cosy.”

Both of them pulled their hands back at once at the intrusive voice.

Regina was standing only a few steps away, her arms folded over her chest. She looked unimpressed. “David, does Kathryn know you’re here?”

David smiled his charming smile at her. “She does,” he said. “She sent me. I think she wanted me out of the house for a while.” He looked at Mary Margaret. “I think she thinks Mrs Gold can be a good influence on me. I’ve forgotten a lot of my literature since the coma.”

Regina’s dark eyes slid to Mary Margaret, who returned her gaze calmly, even though her heart was pounding. “And how is your husband, dear?” she asked, all sweetness and darkness.

“Cameron is fine,” Mary Margaret said, smiling as politely as she could. “he wanted to have a night in, do some filing at home.” She couldn’t help adding sweetly, “And Emma, Sheriff Swan, is doing well too, in case you wanted to know. They’re both very well.”

Regina’s smile was almost convincing. “That’s wonderful,” she said. “All three of you, so happy under one roof. What an odd little family you have become. There’s nothing quite like a happy family.” She looked at David again. “Give my regards to Kathryn.”

He nodded and smiled until she walked away. “I don’t think she likes us very much.”

“It’s me,” Mary Margaret replied, watching Regina pause at the counter to talk to Granny. “I don’t know why, but we’ve never got along.”

He covered her hand with his again, squeezing quickly and furtively. “At least we get along,” he said, a hint of a smile in his eyes. 

Mary Margaret smiled in return. Things were looking up.


	35. Chapter 35

There were few things that distressed Rumpelstiltskin.

He had long considered himself past caring for the material.

One thing, however, more than anything was important to him.

It was something that he had not paid heed to for too long, distracted as he was by his wife, her daughter, the Mayor. Only with Mary Margaret and Emma both out of the house had he time to examine his possessions more closely.

He stood in front of the china cabinet, staring at a void. The door was locked. The cabinet was untouched. But it was gone. The cup was gone. All that remained was a darker circle where the dust had not settled.

It was gone.

He didn’t know when it had gone, or how long it had been missing, but what mattered was that it was gone. 

Mary Margaret seldom touched the cabinets in the living room, especially not that one. She always told him that his clutter was his domain, and they never had guests who were worthy of breaking out the best china. 

It had to be a reciprocal response from Regina. She could not come to his shop or use his mind as her personal playground anymore, so she had taken the only thing that could have brought back his memories of a time when he had been happy, and could have been in love. 

It was an underhanded blow.

Like so many things in his life, before his memory returned, he had always known the cup was important. Like Bae’s ball in the shop, or the broken spinning wheel that was stacked in pieces in the basement of the house. Something had always stirred when he looked at them, though the memories of the objects were hazy.

He touched the empty spot.

Unless she suspected his memories were returning.

If that were the case, he knew she wouldn’t care about a simple cup. She would be doing everything in her power to tear him down. The cup was just a fragment of a mostly-forgotten life. She wouldn’t be so trivial. 

He closed the cabinet door without taking the duster to the wood.

Better to have that circle, that mark, to remind him again and again of the blue-eyed, dark-haired woman who had once been foolish enough to love him. Even if he couldn’t quite picture her face, or remember the sound of her voice, not without traces of Mary Margaret colouring her, he could still remember that she loved him and he, foolish coward that he was then, had loved her too. 

It was possible, of course, that his wife had moved it. If it had been in the shop, his domain, she could never have seen it or touched it, but here in their house, there was a chance, however remote, that she had done so. 

Rumpelstiltskin distracted himself by sorting through the book shelves. There were books he had promised to look out for Kathryn Nolan, and as little as it served as a diversion, it was enough to keep him from tearing the house apart to find the cup. 

His eyes kept drifting back to the cupboard, the empty spot. 

It was only made worse to know that Snow and her Prince were together. They were getting to have some happiness, and while he had hoped to look to the cup, to try and remember his own love, now, he didn’t even have that.

By the time Mary Margaret returned from her meeting with David Nolan, he felt like he had cleaned every inch of the living room. The shelves gleamed, the books were dusted, and even the windows shone.

“Wow.” Mary Margaret turned around on the spot. “You’ve been busy, Cam.”

He managed a wan smile. “It needed to be done,” he said. He twisted the ragged duster in his hand, hesitating, then asked her, “Dearie, do you remember the cup that was in the china cabinet?”

She frowned, nodding. “The little white one? With the chip missing?”

His hands twitched around the duster. “That one, yes,” he said, his throat tight.

She looked over at the china cabinet. “Last time I saw it, it was in there,” she said, with a quick gesture. “I didn’t even notice it was gone.”

He set the duster down on top of the piano. “Neither did I,” he said. 

“Huh.” Mary Margaret approached the cabinet, looking at it. “If someone took it, it’s a strange thing to take,” she said, “especially with all the valuable things in the house.” She looked at him. “Maybe it was Emma for a cup of tea or something?”

He smiled slightly at that, his cheeks aching from the effort of it. “Miss Swan wouldn’t know what to do with a teacup if it bit her,” he said. He sighed, rubbing his forehead. “I’ll ask her when she gets home.”

His wife looked from the cabinet to him and back. “Was it important?” she asked quietly, with that knowing look.

“It was… sentimental,” he said, rubbing his hands slowly together. “But never mind that now, dearie. Did you have a pleasant evening?”

Her pale cheeks flushed warmly. “I did,” she said. “Even when Regina tried to butt in.”

Rumpelstiltskin’s teeth clenched together. “Is that so?”

“David told her we’re having a book club,” she said, giggling bashfully. “She didn’t look too pleased about it.”

“I imagine not,” he said. 

He could only begin to guess how furious the Queen must be: her loyal dog turning on her, her unknown nemesis taking on a position of authority to stand against her in town, her long-hated enemy finding her way back to her true love in spite of everything. 

If he knew Regina, which he did, the storm was coming.

He only hoped that they would all be able to weather it.


	36. Chapter 36

Mary Margaret was happy. 

Confused, certainly, but happy.

She had a caring, decent husband, who had gently nudged her into the arms of an equally charming and loving boyfriend, who happily took her on weekends away to her husband’s cabin. It should have felt wretched, shameful, but it didn’t. She’d read enough novels and seen enough soap operas to know the fate of scarlet women. None of those women had a husband quite like Cameron. 

What made it all the stranger was that David was still living with his wife. Kathryn had insisted on it. It was his house too, and as much as she was saddened by the failure of their marriage, until he had a steady job and some way to provide for himself, he was welcome to stay in the guest room. 

Secretly, she expected hostile looks and snide whispers every time she left the house, but they never came. Not even when she ran into Kathryn in the grocery store, quite literally, with her basket when she rounded into an aisle.

“Kathryn!”

The woman smiled at her. “Mary Margaret,” she said warmly. “How are you?”

Mary Margaret felt like she could bite on her clumsy tongue. What could she possibly say to the woman whose husband she was sleeping with? “Well,” she managed, smiling uncertainly. “I’m well. And you?”

Kathryn shrugged with a rueful laugh. “Apparently, I still need to do some refresher courses before I can get into the law school I’m looking at,” she said. She reached out, touching Mary Margaret’s arm. “Can you tell your husband those books were incredibly useful?”

“Books?” Mary Margaret echoed, dazed. 

Kathryn nodded. “He loaned me a few from his collection,” she said. “If he needs them back, tell David to let me know? Or he can call me himself. I’m sure you have our number.”

“Yes,” Mary Margaret said. “Yes. Your number. I have it.”

Kathryn smiled again. “Good,” she said. She squeezed Mary Margaret’s arm, then slipped around her and headed towards the bakery. 

Mary Margaret was still staring after her, when someone cleared their throat behind her. She turned, startled to find Regina less than three feet away.

“I heard about your little… liaison,” she said, her lip curling. “Trust me, dear, no one is impressed.”

Mary Margaret felt colour rush up her cheeks. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Regina took a step closer. “Kathryn is my friend,” she said, her voice low and dangerous. “I don’t like it when someone takes advantage of her good nature, and I can tell you and your twisted husband are doing just that.”

Mary Margaret’s eyes widened in shock. “We are doing no such thing!” she said in a heated whisper. “What is happening in Kathryn and David’s marriage is between them! It’s nothing to do with Cameron or I!”

Regina’s red lips curled back from her teeth in a sneer. “Keep telling yourself that, dear,” she said. “Putting on a mask of virtue doesn’t change what you are underneath.” She smiled, all teeth. “I hope you enjoy being a lying little tramp, Mrs Gold. You’re so very proficient at it.”

Mary Margaret was torn between mortification and outrage, as the other woman turned and stalked away. 

By the time she got in the car to drive home, the outrage was winning. 

She stormed into the house, straight past Cameron, who was reading The Mirror in the living room, and through to the kitchen where Emma was chopping up vegetables for dinner. Mary Margaret brought the shopping bags down heavily on the counter. 

“Bad day?” Emma inquired.

“I ran into Madam Mayor down at the store,” Mary Margaret said darkly, emptying the bags and stacking things into cupboards. She stifle a profanity when some of the boxes she had crammed into a cupboard cascaded back out, scattering across the floor. “She is such an unpleasant woman.” 

“Whoa, easy tiger,” Emma said, kneeling down to help her gather up the scattered boxes. She looked up at Mary Margaret, handing the cartons up to her. “Don’t let her get to you. You know she’s not worth it.”

Mary Margaret stifled a tight laugh. “Oh, I know I shouldn’t care, but she’s just so… so…” She shrieked through her teeth, shoving the boxes back into the cupboard. “She seems to think she’s got the right to judge every one of us. She’s only the Mayor! It’s not like she’s… I don’t know…”

“An Evil Queen?” Emma suggested with a rueful smile. She retrieved her knife and returned to cutting the vegetables. “Can’t you just picture her like that, though? Sweeping around, all dressed in black and doing magic?”

Mary Margaret couldn’t help smiling, the anger draining away a little at a time. “Henry’s starting to get to you,” she said, unpacking the last of the bags a little more carefully. “How’s Operation Cobra going anyway?”

“Not great,” Emma admitted. “His book went missing after the big storm last week, when the castle was destroyed. I’ve been looking all over it, but there’s no sign of it anywhere.” She glanced at Mary Margaret. “He’s scared that Regina got hold of it.”

Mary Margaret sighed. “Poor kid,” she said. “It would be so much easier if he didn’t believe it was all real.”

“Tell me about it,” Emma said. She set down her knife, surveying her handiwork, then turned and yelled, “Hey! Gold! They’re chopped. What do I do now?”

Mary Margaret looked at her in amusement. “He has you doing his cooking for him?”

Emma rolled her eyes. “No,” she said. “He’s teaching me to cook.”

Mary Margaret turned away to hide her smile. Even if she did hate Regina, the woman had got one thing right in all the observations she had made of them: it really was like they were becoming some kind of odd little family.


	37. Chapter 37

Rumpelstiltskin did not like to be outplayed.

It seldom happened, not with all the care he had taken to ensure he was always one step ahead of the game. The Saviour was Sheriff. His wife and her Prince had begun a secret affair. The Queen had not bothered him for weeks, save for the theft of his cup. That was why the arrival of Emma and Regina at the shop came as such a surprise. 

Technically, if she was only following Emma, he knew it could unfortunately not be construed as harassing, and therefore would not break the request he had laid down before her, when she had last dared to venture into his domain.

He smiled as placidly as ever, his eyes flicking over each of them. Regina was smiling like a tiger, chin high, every inch of her exuding smug confidence, which was enough to put him on edge. Emma, on the other hand, looked like she wanted to be anywhere but there. 

No doubt the Mayor was playing the jurisdiction card.

Rumpelstiltskin spread his hands on the counter, tapping his fingertips on the glass. "How can I help you, ladies?" he asked. "I'll go out on a limb and guess this isn't a social visit?"

"We've had an anonymous tip-off," Emma said, her voice tight. "I’m afraid I have to follow up on it."

Rumpelstiltskin slanted a look at Regina. "I'm sure," he said, drumming his fingertips on the counter. "And what was this little snippet of information that a little bird told you?"

"She has a warrant to inspect your building, from the basement to the storage loft," Regina said.

Rumpelstiltskin frowned. "Basement? I don't have a basement."

Emma shot a dark look at Regina. "That's not what we were told," she said. She gave him a brief, careful smile that didn't quite reach her eyes. "We better get this over with, Gold." She gestured with one hand. "Take us through the back."

Rumpelstiltskin slanted a look at Regina, who looked as if she had just been handed a silver platter with the head of Snow White on it. He knew he had no skeletons, no secrets that she knew about, nothing she could use against him, but her confidence was unsettling him. 

"Very well," he said, "but I'm afraid you're going to be disappointed."

Sheriff and Mayor pushed through the curtain into the back of the shop. It was as cluttered as the front. Nothing had been moved or rearranged, and he knew where every object and item was. The Sheriff walked around the room, inspecting it floor to ceiling.

Regina walked this way and that, occasionally stamping her foot, as if it would show some secret way, and Rumpelstiltskin watched her eyes. There was something here, something hidden in this place, and she had put it there. He didn't know what or where or why, but he knew now that she had always suspected him of treachery.

Beneath her foot, there was a change in the tenor of the sound.

"Here," she said.

Rumpelstiltskin took a step forward. "If there's something there, I have no idea what it is."

Emma looked at him, and she looked like she wanted to believe him. "We still have to check it out," she said. "Can you stand back against the wall, Gold?"

He did so, watching guardedly. It would be easy to use please on Regina, but it would be too obvious now, especially with Emma to witness it. It was a valuable token, and not something he could use lightly, not until he knew exactly what game she was playing.

Though he knew that he knew every inch of his shop, Emma pushed aside a cabinet he had never moved to reveal a hatch. The handle was gleaming and clean from recent use. When Emma caught the handle and pulled, the hinges didn't even squeak. It must have been there all along, and he had never known. 

"No basement?" Regina said, smiling like a cat. 

"I've never seen that hatch in my life," he said coldly.

"I'm sure," Regina purred. "And that's why it's jammed so tightly, stiff and wedged with disuse."

"Shut up," Emma snapped. She looked at him. "Gold, do you have a flashlight?"

He nodded stiffly, fetching one from a shelf and offering it to her. There were stairs down into the cold ground, wooden steps into a brick-lined basement. 

"You're coming down too," she said, as she took the torch.

Rumpelstiltskin shot a venomous look at Regina. "Yes, I would rather like to see what's down here." 

Emma descended first, and Rumpelstiltskin followed, one hand braced on the smoothly polished handrail. Regina walked down behind him, and he could practically feel her smirking. 

The basement was as large as the building above, and as cluttered as the upper level was, it was spartan and bare. The walls were bare brick, without even a window for light, and he squinted when Emma found a switch, flooding the basement with bright, yellow light. 

There was nothing in the room except a cupboard and a door at the far end. That door made him look at Regina with suspicion. It was thick metal and locked with a heavy padlock. Regina looked back at him, smiling calmly.

"I always knew you were a strange little man," she said. "Where's the key?"

"I have no idea," he said through clenched teeth. "You know I've never seen this place before."

Emma turned on them both. Her hand was resting around the lock. "Regina, shut up. Gold, do you have a key?"

"Like I said," he said quietly, looking at her directly. He knew he was skilled at deception. Honesty was not his stock and trade, but he prayed to anyone who might hear that she could tell that he wasn't lying. "I never even knew this place was here. I don't have any key."

She gazed at him, then nodded. "An axe? Or crowbar?"

"Upstairs," he said.

She brushed past him, and darted up the stairs, and he stalked closer to Regina.

"What have you done?" he growled.

"Me?" She widened her eyes in exaggerated shock. "I don't know what you're talking about, Mr Gold. Why would I want anything to happen that might discredit you?" She leaned closer and breathed, "You, who have been in this with me, right from the start." Her mouth curved in a snake-like smile. "What could I possibly gain with you being out of the way of your wife and Miss Swan?"

She knew.

Rumpelstiltskin's heart thumped painfully. 

She knew and she was trying to prevent him from helping Emma to fulfil her destiny and break the curse. She knew he had some part in David and Mary Margaret’s tentative affair. She knew that he remembered who and what they both were, and where they came from.

Emma thundered back down the steps, crowbar in hand, and Rumpelstiltskin drew back from Regina, who schooled her expression into neutral blankness. All the same, she couldn't hide the gleam in her eyes as Emma wedged the bar into the lock and snapped it open.

Rumpelstiltskin kept his eyes on Regina as the door was pulled open. It barely creaked at all.

When Emma swore, he knew it was something terrible, and he heard her run into the room.

Only then did he turn his head, look through the door.

It was a cell. There was no question of that. A cell with a mattress and no light.

It was a prison, and it served its purpose.

A bundle of rags on the mattress moved, and lifted a pale face with faded, frightened blue eyes.

Rumpelstiltskin's world swam. He heard the cane clatter as it hit the floor.

He heard Regina speak but couldn't make out a word she said.

All he could do was stand and stare and remember to breathe.

It was Belle. 

She was alive.


	38. Chapter 38

Mary Margaret ran into the Sheriff's department.

The sight of Cameron in the cells made her stop dead in the doorway. He was white as a sheet, sitting on the low bunk, and staring blankly into nothing. 

"Mary Margaret," Emma said urgently, leaning out of her office. She had called the school, and she beckoned Mary Margaret into the office. "Sorry I couldn't tell you what was going on," she said. "But I thought it was better to tell you in person."

Mary Margaret's hands were shaking. It didn’t matter what was going on in their personal lives. What mattered was that her husband was locked up. "What happened? Why has he been arrested?"

Emma pressed her into the chair and pulled her own chair closer. "We had a tip-off," she said, looking down at her hands, then up at Mary Margaret's face. "Suspicious behaviour around his shop. Something hidden in the basement." She caught Mary Margaret's hand. "There was a locked room with a girl down there."

Mary Margaret stared at her. "Wh-what?"

"I didn't want to believe anything was going on," Emma said, her voice almost steady, "but the girl's in a bad way. They took her to hospital, and are running tests now, but she's not speaking. They don’t know how long she was down there for."

Mary Margaret pulled her hand free from Emma's. "He didn't do it," she said. "Cameron wouldn't do something like this."

Emma sat back in her seat. "I don't want to believe he did," she said. "He looked as shocked as anyone, but that doesn't change the fact there was a hidden door in his shop."

Mary Margaret's hands were trembling. "You've been living with us for months," she said, trying her hardest to keep her voice steady. "You know me. You know Cameron. Do you think he would be so... so cruel? So terrible? Do you think so little of him? Of me? I know my husband!"

Emma looked away, then reached for a box, pulling it over. She withdrew a clear plastic bag, which contained a teacup that was very familiar. "Do you recognise this?" she asked quietly, handing Mary Margaret the bag. "It was in the room with the girl."

Mary Margaret felt sick. It was the chipped cup from the china cabinet. A recollection surfaced, and she looked up at Emma. "Someone stole this," she said fiercely. "It vanished a while ago. Remember? He asked it we moved it when he was cleaning the cabinets. It went missing. He didn't put it in with her."

"Mary Margaret..."

She stood up, her legs shaking beneath her. "I know my husband didn't do this," she said. "I don't care what anyone says. I know him. I know he wouldn't have locked any poor woman in a basement he didn’t even know he had." She swallowed hard, trying to keep herself steady. "If you don't mind, I want to see my husband."

She walked over to the cell, waited there until Emma opened the door for her and let her in. Cameron barely lifted his head, and she walked into the cell stiffly, kneeling down at his feet. 

"Cam?" She reached up, touched his cheek. He flinched as if she had slapped him. "Cam, it's me."

His eyes met hers and he stared at her blankly, lifting a hand to cover hers on his cheek. "Is she all right?" he asked in a trembling voice. "The girl they found. Is she all right? Did they hurt her?"

Mary Margaret shook her head. "I don't know," she said, kneeling between his knees and put her arms around him. She knew it was worse than she could imagine when he wrapped his arms around her and clung onto her. "I don't know what's going on, Cam. I don't know whose doing this to you."

"Yes, you do," he whispered against her ear. "The same person who does everything around here."

She pulled back to look him in the face. "Regina?"

He stared at her, a wildness in his eyes. His hands came up framing her face. "She's trying to stop Emma," he whispered. "You have to keep Emma safe. No matter what happens, keep Emma safe. Keep Emma strong. She's the only one who can stop her."

Mary Margaret felt sick to her stomach. "Cam, you're scaring me."

His thumbs brushed her cheeks gently. "No, I'm not," he said, his eyes holding hers. "You're a tough old bird, Mary Margaret Blanchard." He leaned forward, knocking his forehead gently against hers. "You survived years married to me. You can do anything. Just do what you know feels right, no matter what."

She pulled him into a tight hug again. "What do I do?" she asked in a whisper. "What do you need me to do?"

He cradled the back of her head in his hand, his long fingers smoothing her hair. "Kathryn," he murmured. "Send her down here. She can be my legal counsel, in name if nothing else. And the girl..." His breath caught and his voice trembled, "Find out what you can. See her, if you can. Make sure she's all right."

Mary Margaret nodded, drawing back to look him in the eyes. "You're going to be okay," she said, pressing her hand to his cheek. 

For a moment, a smile flickered across his lips. "I always am," he said, but it sounded hollow. He touched the back of her hand lightly. "No matter what happens from here, I need you to be strong out there, and keep Emma from losing faith in this place."

"I'm not strong, Cam," she said quietly. "I'm just me."

"You're mad if you think that," he said, tilting her head down and kissing her forehead. "You are one of the strongest women I've ever known, and you have friends, loyal friends. Trust David. Trust Emma. Trust Kathryn. Trust Henry." He lifted her chin and when he looked at her, she felt like she was looking at someone so much older and wiser than her grumpy husband. "Trust yourself, dearie, and all will be well."


	39. Chapter 39

Rumpelstiltskin tried to gather his wits about him, but it felt like they had been scattered to the four winds. 

He could barely remember Emma hustling him to the Sheriff’s station, or the questions she had fired at him to get the interrogation out of the way: Do you know this woman? Do you know her name? Do you know where she comes from? Did you lock her up? Did you hurt her? 

To every question, he answered no. No. No. No. No. NO!

In the end, he could distantly recall overturning the table and backing into a corner. He remembered clawing at the walls, he remembered wanting to scream, and not being able to breathe, and Emma was kneeling beside him, holding him tightly, hand on his chest, helping him to breathe, slow and steady.

He had clung to Emma’s arm so tightly that the skin was bruised and black only hours later, and he had begged her, begged her to make sure the girl was all right. He had lost all restraint and he was trying to claw the pieces of himself back together. He needed to be all in one piece. He needed to focus, to think, to find some way out of Regina’s trap.

Mary Margaret came and went.

The Sheriff was there constantly, watching him, wary now. 

In the shop, she had believed him when he said he didn’t know about the basement, but now, she was looking at him as if he could have, would have, done such a thing. As if he had kept Belle locked away in the darkness, his Belle who loved the light. She was alive, and she had been closed away, locked in the dark.

He pressed his eyes closed tightly, breathing in and out through his teeth. 

Regina.

He needed to focus on her. 

She had done it all. She had sent Belle back to him, and in his folly, he had believed that it was all the Queen’s trick. When Belle departed, she must have been waiting, a lovely little toy, a bargaining chip, or - as it seemed now - a weapon against him.

Rumpelstiltskin knocked his head back against the wall of the cell.

Somewhere beyond the bars, he heard Emma’s phone shrilling, and she ran out without so much as a word. If he knew Regina, she would be lurking outside somewhere, waiting for her moment to sneak in and gloat.

When he heard footfalls, he didn’t even crack his eyes open.

“Come to pay a visit, your Majesty?”

“Your Majesty?” Henry said. 

Rumpelstiltskin’s eyes flew open and he turned, startled. “Henry?”

“You said your Majesty!” Henry exclaimed. “You know it’s true!”

Rumpelstiltskin bared his teeth. The boy already knew enough, and no one would believe him if he said anything. “Perhaps,” he said, sitting up and leaning closer to the bars. “What are you doing here, boy? The Sheriff could be back at any moment.”

“She won’t be,” Henry said. “I asked Peter and the other lost boys to go and smash up a shop front to keep her busy.”

“A shop front.”

Henry blushed. “Your shop front,” he said. “I had to get her out of here, so it had to be something big.” 

The shop hardly mattered anymore, but he had to ask, “And why was that necessary?”

“I came to warn you,” Henry said, hurrying up to the bars, leaning against them. “Has Emma asked you questions yet?”

“Oh, yes,” Rumpelstiltskin said with a grimace. 

“That’s bad!” Henry exclaimed. “The girl in the basement, did you know her in the Fairytale lands?”

Rumpelstiltskin hesitated, then nodded.

Henry looked around urgently in case his mother was returning. “Emma can tell when people are lying!” he said. “Did she ask you anything that might have had a different answer when you were really you?”

Rumpelstiltskin stared at him. Do you know this woman? Do you know her name? Do you know where she comes from? Did you lock her up? Did you hurt her? Almost every question she had asked him, the answer was no in Storybrooke, but in another time, another place, another world, every answer was yes, yes, yes.

He pushed himself off the bunk, limping across to slam his hand against the wall. No wonder she had kept herself on the far side of the station since she had booked him. If she believed he was lying about everything, no wonder at all.

It would take some persuasion to have her interrogate him again, especially after the little show he put on the last time, but if he could claim shock, emotional distress, trauma, or any of the hundred ailments that people claimed when anxious, then perhaps, she might allow it.

Then, he could answer more carefully.

Then, he could answer for Storybrooke alone. 

“It’s bad, isn’t it?” Henry said quietly. “Who was she? The woman the Queen locked up?”

Rumpelstiltskin turned to look at him. “You don’t think evil Mr Gold did it?” he said, only a little mockery in his tone.

Henry gave him a look that could have been his grandmother’s. She gave him the same look any time he forgot to put his laundry in the basket. “You’re a bad guy, but you’re not so bad you would lock someone up like that.”

“Oh, but I did, Henry,” Rumpelstiltskin whispered, dragging himself towards the bars. “I did, and it was the same woman your mother locked in my basement.” He wrapped his hands around the bars, leaning closer. Henry was wide-eyed. “I was the worst there was. I was the monster they were afraid of. I was the one they didn’t want coming after them and in the end, they locked me up and threw away the key.”

Henry, bold little grandson of Snow and her Prince, leaned even closer. “Then I know your name,” he said.

Rumpelstiltskin grinned bitterly, baring his teeth. “Say it, my boy,” he challenged. “If you can guess my name, we had a deal.”

Henry leaned closer. “I don’t have my book anymore,” he said quietly, “but you’ll tell me everything you know anyway, Rumpelstiltskin.”


	40. Chapter 40

The whole world felt like it was turning over on her.

Mary Margaret was trying to be as strong as Cameron believed she was. She had to be strong for him because he had no one else who would care or try to help him, not without her there beside him.

She stopped on the way to the hospital to just sit in the car, hands resting - trembling - on the wheel. He was locked up like a criminal for a crime he couldn’t possibly have committed. She knew him. She knew him well. All their years together had to count for something. She knew he was innocent, and he said she was tough. 

She was startled to realise her cheeks were wet and she swiped the palm of her hand over one then the other, breathing deeply to steady herself. 

By the time she reached the hospital, she could almost pretend that everything was all right, and that she was completely calm. It was true her eyes were a little red, but that could be explained away by the chilly wind.

Mary Margaret made her way through the hospital, pausing to smile and talk to some of the nurses she knew from her time as a volunteer. Their smiles were more forced, less natural than usual, and her heart sank. No doubt they had already heard what had happened.

She caught the arm of one of the younger nurses, Nurse Hightower. “Please, can you help me?” she asked quietly. “You know what I’m here about. I have to see if I know who she is.”

The girl bit her lip nervously. “The Mayor said she isn’t to be disturbed,” she said. She looked around, then caught Mary Margaret by the hand, leading her quickly through the halls, to the corridor lined with private rooms. She stopped outside one of the doors. “I’ll move the blinds a little,” she said. “But don’t come in.”

Mary Margaret nodded, shifting anxiously from foot to foot as Nurse Hightower slipped into the room. The blinds moved an inch and Mary Margaret peeked through quickly. She could see the girl on the bed. She was pale and thin with tangled auburn hair. Her blue eyes were staring blankly at the ceiling above her.

The door opened suddenly and Mary Margaret stumbled back, startled. 

Regina was framed in the doorway, a dark look on her face.

“Haven’t you and your husband damaged enough peoples’ lives?” she said coldly, pulling the door closed behind her. “The Nolan marriage is in pieces because of you, and now, we find your husband has been imprisoning girls in his shop.” The contempt on her face made Mary Margaret shiver. “What kind of sick individuals are you?”

Strong.

Cameron believed she was strong, and she knew he was innocent.

She balled her fists by her sides. “You know he didn’t do it,” she said. “You know he would never do anything like this.”

Regina laughed bitterly. “You think you know your husband so well, don’t you?”

“I think I know him a lot better than you do,” Mary Margaret countered, keeping her voice low, mindful of disturbing the patients in the private rooms. “I don’t know why you have it in for us, but it isn’t going to work.”

“In for you?” Regina said, smiling. “My dear, you have an overactive imagination. How on earth could I possibly be involved in hiding a woman in the basement of your husband’s shop when he practically lives there? Don’t you think he would have noticed? I’m sure that would be something he would have told the Sheriff right away, don’t you?”

Mary Margaret gazed back at her. This was the woman who had Emma arrested on false charges. This was the woman who had outright threatened her and her family. This was a woman who ran Storybrooke like her own personal playground.

“Cameron will tell Emma the truth,” she said quietly, surprised at how calm and steady her voice was. “No matter what you do, you can’t stop him from telling the truth. You can’t hide it forever.”

“It doesn’t matter what words he spins,” the Mayor said, stepping closer to her. “What matters is that she was found in his basement, of his shop, with no other access. Do you think people will really believe a single word he says about it? And when they find out that his dear, sweet little wife was sleeping around with a married man with amnesia, I have a feeling your credibility is going to go down, don’t you?”

Mary Margaret’s cheeks burned. “If you were a real friend, you wouldn’t humiliate Kathryn by airing her marriage’s details in public,” she said fiercely. 

“I’m not airing her marriage’s details, dear,” Regina said with mocking sweetness. “All I’m saying is that David was sick, traumatised, and vulnerable, and you seduced him.” She laughed quietly. “It looks like you and your darling husband have a similar taste in damaged goods.”

It was so tempting to hit her, right in the middle of her smug face, but it wouldn’t help to end up in the cell right next to her husband. 

“You won’t get away with this,” she said, her fists shaking by her sides.

“Get away with what, dear?” Regina purred, turning and reaching for the door handle. “I haven’t done anything.”

She was halfway into the room, when Mary Margaret spoke again. 

“Leave Kathryn out of this. People don’t need to know. You said you were her friend.”

Dark eyes looked at her, full of contempt. “Now, you’re pretending you care about her feelings?” she said. “Spare me your hypocrisy. It’s your reputation on the line, not hers.” She smirked. “And if I really was involved in all of this, I’d have thought you would be thanking me. One of your paths to Mr Nolan cleared. Only one to go.”

Before Mary Margaret could voice a protest, she closed the door behind her and pulled the shutters back down.


	41. Chapter 41

Emma listened to him.

She returned from chasing off the little vandals long after Henry had departed, and when he asked, she agreed they would talk again in the morning, that they would do a proper interview when they had both got some rest. 

He slept badly, and it didn’t look like she got much more than he did when she walked into the station at eight o’clock the next morning. All the same, she gave him coffee and shared a breakfast box from Mary Margaret with him before they got down to the interview. 

It seemed all the weeks she had been living with them had given her a measure of him, and she no more believed he was capable of locking strange women up than she was. When he asked to speak, she nodded, and this time, he paid careful attention to what she asked, and what he said in response. 

When she finally switched off the tape recorder, she propped her elbows on the table and rested her face in her hands for a moment.

Rumpelstiltskin ran two fingertips along the edge of the table, watching them, then raised his eyes to meet hers when she lowered her hands.

“You know none of this makes any sense, don’t you?” she said quietly. 

“I’m well aware of that,” he replied, gazing at her. Emma had barely stopped since the discovery of the woman. He couldn’t think of her by name. It made his throat feel like it closed up every time he brought her to mind. “This girl, do they know her name yet? Does anyone know who she is?”

Emma hesitated, then slowly nodded. “Some florist,” she said. “Moe French. He turned up at the hospital last night, after he heard about some mystery girl showing up. Said his kid ran away from home a few years back. He brought a photograph, and it was her. His daughter, Isabelle. ”

“French, you say?” Rumpelstiltskin feigned innocence, as if he had not made a fresh deal with Henry and sent the boy running straight to Sir Maurice’s shop the previous afternoon, to slip an anonymous note under the door. 

If Regina was going to interfere again, the best he could do was ensure that Belle at least had someone else by her side who cared. If Regina had lied about her death, she certainly had lied about Sir Maurice’s part in it.

“Do you know them?” Emma asked suspiciously. 

He shook his head. A non-verbal lie went undetected. “I’m only a little puzzled,” he admitted, “When we were at Graham’s funeral, when I left you and Mary Margaret to walk a while, I could swear I saw a grave with the name of the girl on it, only a couple of rows over.” He shook his head again. “No doubt I was imagining things.”

Emma frowned. “Maybe not. This whole situation stinks. I’ve checked all the records and I can’t find any trace of a Missing Person file for this girl. Her father’s meant to come down to speak to me, but right now, he won’t leave her.”

“No small wonder,” Rumpelstiltskin murmured. He could only imagine how the curse had twisted on Sir Maurice, if he had believed his daughter a runaway. “If I found my long-lost child, I would never want them to leave my side again.”

Emma pushed her chair back. “Maybe I should check the cemetery,” she said, taking the cassette from the recorder. “If this is a frame job, someone really must have it in for you.”

“The perils of being an unpopular man, I fear,” he murmured, rising and leaning on his cane, which he was only allowed to get from cell to interview room and back. Emma was gazing at him, with a look that was wholly her mother’s. “Don’t deny it, Sheriff. You know what’s said about me around town.”

“I know what’s said,” she agreed, “but this is more than just a petty prank. Someone hates you a hell of a lot to frame you for an abduction, and to do such a good job, they’ve got to have all kinds of contacts.”

He watched her face. “You know who has the authority around here, dearie,” he said quietly. 

She looked at him doubtfully. “You think the Mayor has it in for you? I mean, I know she’s intense, but would she do something like this?”

“In a word? Yes.” 

She didn’t argue, leading him back towards the cells, but paused as they passed one of the desks. “Do you want to call Mary Margaret?” she asked, looking at him. “I know you guys are doing your… open marriage thing just now, but she’s worried sick about you.”

“I thought I only had one phonecall,” he murmured.

“I won’t tell if you won’t,” she said, tapping in the number and handing him the phone. “If anyone asks, I was calling to ask what time I needed to be home for dinner.”

He nodded curtly, sitting down at the desk. It was but a moment before Mary Margaret picked up the phone on the other end. “Good morning, dearie.”

“Cam.” The relief in her voice was heartbreakingly touching. “Are you… how are you?”

“I’ve been better,” he admitted. “And you?”

“I’m okay.” She sighed. “I tried to do what you ask, Cam,” she said, her voice heavy. She sounded exhausted, and no small wonder, “but Regina was at the hospital. She’s going to make sure everyone knows about David and I, as well as the girl.”

Rumpelstiltskin stared into nothing. “Divide and conquer,” he murmured. “Yes. She would do that. Doesn’t she care that it would hurt Kathryn? Didn’t you say she claimed they were friends?”

“That’s what I asked her,” Mary Margaret said. “But I don’t think friend means what she thinks it means.”

“No,” he agreed. “It certainly doesn’t.”

Mary Margaret gave a small, pained laugh. “Cam, she said that now, I had one obstacle out of my way and Kathryn was the only one left between me and David. She made it sound like I wanted this to happen. You know I didn’t want this to happen, don’t you?”

“Of course, of course.” He wished he could pat her hand comfortingly. “Neither of us wanted this to happen.” One side of his mouth turned up. “We’re still married after all. If we wanted to part company, there are simpler ways to go about it. If it came to it, trial separation and divorce would rank high above abduction and imprisonment.”

She laughed helplessly. “How can you make jokes?”

“It’s easier than thinking on the alternative,” he murmured. “Take care of yourself, dearie, and remember what I told you.”

“I remember,” she said softly. “Take care, Cam.”

He set the phone back in the cradle, and didn’t wait for the Sheriff to urge him back into his cell. So Regina was making noises in the direction of Kathryn Nolan? Perhaps it was just that, but if she was resorting to dangerous measures to shatter the not-quite-family that he, his wife, her true husband and their daughter had formed, then Kathryn was the only person in the way.

Emma locked the door of the cell and he passed his cane through the bars.

“You’ll be okay if I leave you here?”

He managed a wry smile. “I’m not going anywhere.”

She was barely out the building when her erstwhile son barrelled in, face aglow. “Mom’s got meetings all morning,” he said, “so I thought we could work on Operation Cobra, while Emma is gone too.”

“And what about school?” Rumpelstiltskin said with mock sternness. 

“Saving the world is more important,” Henry declared. “What do we need to do?”

Rumpelstiltskin gazed at the bold little boy who was every bit his mother’s son. “There’s something I need you to do.”


	42. Chapter 42

Mary Margaret stood in the doorway between the kitchen and the living room. The food was ready and just needed to be served up, but she didn't have the heart to wake Emma. The Sheriff had stumbled in fifteen minutes earlier, dead on her feet, and sprawled into one of the armchairs, while Mary Margaret was cooking, and now, she had dozed off, her chin drooping to rest on her chest.

Emma was taking the case personally.

It wasn't just that it was centred on Cameron. Mary Margaret knew how well they got along, and that it was a big part of the issue, but it wasn't all of it. The girl, the victim, still wasn't talking, and Regina wasn't letting up in her righteous fury on behalf of Miss French. That was making Emma all the more determined to find out what was going on.

She had barely been in the house at all in the last forty-eight hours.

A rattle at the front door startled Mary Margaret and Emma was on her feet instantly, despite still being half-asleep.

"I'll get it," Mary Margaret said, hurrying from the kitchen door. Emma subsided back down into the chair, yawning and pushing her hands through her hair. Mary Margaret unlocked the door, opening it. The man standing there was unfamiliar. Tall, striking with bright green eyes and dark hair. "Can I help you?"

He looked at her, then glanced past her. "Is the Sheriff here?"

"She is," Mary Margaret said, closing the door over a little to keep him from looking too intently into her home. "But she's off-duty right now. You can talk to her at the station tomorrow."

"I only need a minute," he said, putting his hand against the door to keep her from closing it. "Please, it's important."

"What's so important?" Mary Margaret asked, narrowing her eyes. "She's been on back-to-back shifts for almost forty-eight hours, and unless you can give me a good reason, I'm not going to disturb her."

"Mary Margaret," Emma murmured. She'd risen from the couch, approaching the door. "It's okay."

Mary Margaret looked at her with concern. "No, it's not," she said. "You're dead on your feet."

"Doesn't mean I can put down the badge," Emma said. She stepped alongside Mary Margaret and opened the door a little wider. "Yeah?"

The man stared at her blankly for a moment. "You're Sheriff Swan?"

Emma put one hand on her hip. "I am," she said. "Who're you?"

"Booth," the man replied, holding out a hand. "August Booth." Emma glanced down at his hand, then back to his face. He lowered his hand. "I need to talk to you."

"I got that," Emma said. "How can I help you?"

He glanced at Mary Margaret. "Privately?" he asked.

Emma nodded reluctantly. "I'll come through for dinner in five minutes," she said to Mary Margaret. "You don't need to wait for me."

Mary Margaret nodded. "Five minutes," she said, with a stern look at her. "You're off-duty."

"Yes, mother," Emma said wryly.

Mary Margaret was halfway back to the kitchen but she heard the man exclaim, "You already know?"

It was ten minutes before she heard the front door close. She had taken her time doling out the food, delaying as long as she could to ensure that it was still piping hot for Emma, when she was done. She set the plates down on the table as Emma walked into the kitchen.

"That was weird," Emma declared, falling down into one of the chairs. 

"Weird how?" Mary Margaret asked, bringing the bread basket over from the counter. 

Emma leaned over the table to grab the bottle of wine and pour them both a glass. "Weird in the Henry's-book way," she replied, pulling a face. "Looks like we have someone else who sees a family resemblance between us." She glanced up. "Maybe I should just call you 'mom' and get it over with." 

She was smiling as she said it, but Mary Margaret could see the wariness in her eyes. Joking aside, this was an issue too close to home for both of them. 

"Oh, I don't think I'm old enough for that yet," Mary Margaret demurred, sitting down. "What did he want?"

Emma dug into her dinner. "He was worried about the Sheriff living in the house of a criminal," she said. "He said it gave people a bad impression of me, and that people wouldn't be confident in my authority."

Mary Margaret's fork stopped halfway to her mouth. "Are you serious?" she asked.

"He was," Emma said. She grabbed a piece of bread from the breadbasket and swiped a thick layer of butter onto it. "I told him that unless he could provide conclusive evidence that Gold had done something illegal, he had no right to stick his nose in." She made a face. "I know Gold isn't Mister Sweetness and Light, but I don't think anyone in town believes that he'd keep a girl prisoner." She shot Mary Margaret a sly look. "Most of them think he wouldn't know what to do with one."

Mary Margaret didn't know whether to be relieved or offended. "And what am I?" she asked, "Window-dressing?"

Emma laughed, and it brightened her tired face. "You're still seen as Little Miss Sunshine," she said. "I bet no one thinks he's even touched you, because God knows, if he did, you would be as crotchety an old bastard as he is."

"Hey!" Mary Margaret said indignantly. "That's my husband you're talking about!"

"You tell me he's Mr Sunshine and I'll think you've been at the wine while you were cooking," Emma countered with a grin. She returned her attention to her food and her expression sobered as she ate. "Have you kept some of this for Gold? I can take it down tomorrow."

Mary Margaret nodded. "It's in the refrigerator," she said. she looked at her plate, then back at the Sheriff. "How's he holding up?"

"Better than he was," Emma admitted quietly. She met Mary Margaret's eyes. "Whoever did this did it well. I'm going to have to go over every inch of the basement again, and I'll need to check the cabinet here again. There are too many weird things going on with this."

"Have there been any developments?" Emma hesitated. "There is something, isn't there? Something that proves Cam didn't do it?"

"Not yet," Emma said quickly. "But there are questions that need answered. Like how there's a grave for the girl in the cemetery, and it looks like it's been there for years."

Mary Margaret stared at her. "A grave?"

Emma smiled wearily. "Like I said," she said. "It's weird and just keeps getting weirder."


	43. Chapter 43

Two nights in a cell had left Rumplestiltskin more dishevelled than he would have liked, but some hardships had to be endured. This cell, at least, was not buried deep in the heart of a mountain with the smothering weight of miles of stone pressing down on all sides. 

Mary Margaret was there to stand by his side when he was taken in shackles before the District Attorney, and he could see the frustration in Emma's eyes as she closed the cuffs on his wrists. 

The Mayor was waiting when they reached City Hall, and though she looked at him with vengeful amusement, he was pleased to see that his request still held. She neither spoke to him nor approached him as he was led into the room that served as a temporary courtroom. 

It went more or less as he had anticipated. The charges were read, and there was sufficient evidence to imply guilt. A formal trial date was set. The matter of bail was raised, and though the Mayor did not speak out herself, he could see her hand tugging the D.A.'s strings. Bail was denied under the consideration that he may yet pose a threat to the victim, and he might tamper with undiscovered evidence. 

Only Emma's heated defence prevented him from being shipped off to some larger jail to await trial, and he glanced at Regina. That had been her intention all along, he realised. He had become a liability, and while she could not kill him directly, a tragic accident on the way out of Storybrooke would hardly raise any questions.

All the same, he could not have been more amused when Mary Margaret stood up and told the D.A. exactly what she thought of his ruling. It was worth the fine for contempt of court to see the man who had once been King George turn a dark shade of puce. He looked like he was about to have a coronary.

"Didn't see that coming," Emma muttered to him, as she took him by the elbow to lead him from the table.

"Oh, trust me, dearie," Rumpelstiltskin murmured, "there's a lot more to sweet little Mrs Gold than meets the eye. Never underestimate what she'll do to protect her loved ones." He glanced over at Mary Margaret, who was angrily signing some court paperwork. "You'll keep her close, won't you?" he said to Emma. "Keep her safe? Whoever is after me will no doubt go after her too, just to make a point."

"You think so?" she asked, pausing at the door of the courtroom with him. He met her eyes, and she nodded. "I'll watch her back."

Mary Margaret joined them a moment later. "I tell you where I'd like to stick his five hundred dollars," she said, scowling back across the courtroom. 

"Now, dearie," Rumpelstiltskin murmured. "We don't want to be in neighbouring cells, do we?"

She smiled tiredly. "No. At least you're allowed to stay in Storybrooke until the trial. I don't know what we would have done if you were sent out of town."

Rumpelstiltskin looked across at Regina, who was deep in conversation with the D.A. "I suspect that was Madam Mayor's intent," he murmured. He returned his attention to Mary Margaret. "Could you contact Mrs Nolan for me? I believe she has some of my books which I may need if I am to build a proper defence."

"I'll call her as soon as I get home," she promised.

"I have to get him back," Emma said. "I'll be home for dinner, okay?"

Mary Margaret nodded.

It was much later in the day when Kathryn Nolan arrived at the Sheriff's station. She spoke briefly to Emma, then approached the cell where Rumpelstiltskin was sitting. "I got your message," she said, sitting down on the couch beside the bars and setting down a large canvas shopping bag beside her. She riffled through it, pulling out several of his books. "You're defending yourself? Are you sure that's a good idea?"

"On the whole, I trust myself considerably more than I would trust anyone else to defend me," he admitted, accepting the books through the bars. "You know how most of the people in this town see me. I'm sure any lawyer would happily help convict me, just to keep me off the streets."

"Has anyone ever told you you're a very cynical man?" Kathryn said.

He laughed ruefully. "Dearie, I'm in jail and will shortly go on trial for a case of abduction and wrongful imprisonment I had nothing to do with. Cynicism has nothing to do with it." He studied her. "Have you heard anything that I might find useful? Or has anyone said anything that has concerned you?"

Kathryn glanced over her shoulder at the Sheriff, then leaned closer. "Regina came to visit me the other day, when David was out," she said. "She was asking questions about David's relationship with Mary Margaret. She thinks I'm being taken advantage of. She really doesn't approve and she says Mary Margaret will use the fact you're locked up to her advantage."

Rumpelstiltskin snorted. "She would say so," he said. He could see the shape of the future, if the Queen was making such allusions. It was difficult to play the game when confined within the walls of the prison, his access to the world outside so limited, but if he was correct, he knew what her next move would be.

The last book liberated, Kathryn set her bag down on the floor. "What's your plan?" she asked. "The Sheriff said they denied you bail. Can't you contest that?"

He granted her a brief, approving smile. "I can indeed," he said, "but I think it would be better to work on my defence than argue semantics in a small local courtroom." He gazed at her. "I wonder if perhaps you would be willing to do me a little favour?"

"Does it involve hiding the key to a basement?" she said with wide-eyed innocence. Her lips twitched and he couldn't help but smile briefly. Midas's daughter was far too clever and witty for one such as Snow White's Charming. 

"Nothing so incriminating," he said. "I believe the old town plans and building records are still available in the public records office. I'm wondering if there is perhaps another way into the basement that I might not have been aware of."

She gave him a sympathetic look. "You know it doesn't look good, don't you?"

"And yet, here you are," he said. "All the evidence stands against me, and I can't help but notice you're advising me on my defence."

She smiled quietly. "Because you asked me what I wanted," she said. "No one else ever did."

"And on that basis, you think I'm innocent?" He shook his head. "Dearie, some might call that naïve."

She met his eyes. "I've told you before, Mr Gold, I'm not as stupid as people might believe," she said. "I've listened to the stories. You're a man of words and deals. Not a single person in town can remember you ever doing physical harm to anyone. Threatening, yes. Blackmailing, yes. Destroying reputation and lifestyle, yes. But no one, not even the people who hate you most, can remember you physically hurting anyone."

Rumpelstiltskin looked at the woman wonderingly. "You are far too smart for your own good, Mrs Nolan," he said. "But maybe I simply never have been caught?"

She gave him a stern look and shake of her head. "You can keep telling yourself you're a bad man, Mr Gold, but you're not fooling me." She got up, picking up her bag. "I'll see what I can find for you in the records, but I don't think you should hold your breath."

He inclined his head. "Thank you for your help," he said. "I'll owe you a favour."

She shook her head with a smile. "Don't worry about it," she said. "It's what friends do."

Rumpelstiltskin watched her walk away. Friends. It seemed strange to consider the word. He didn't have friends. He didn't have people he cared for. That had always been his way. He almost felt guilty for not warning her about the perilous position she was in. 

A warning, though, would have given the game away.


	44. Chapter 44

With Cameron in jail and Emma running herself off her feet, Mary Margaret’s tentative relationship with David was forced to take a backseat. He understood, but she knew he also had doubts about her husband’s innocence. 

It was hurtful to think that someone she cared for would not trust someone she did, but given the evidence stacking up and given how little he knew Cameron, she could understand why he thought so.

They still met for lunch from time to time, though more often than not, she would go to the Sheriff’s station to visit Cameron when she could. He insisted she did not need to do so. One visit a day was enough, he said. He didn’t want her to upset herself by coming to such a bleak place, even to brighten it up for him.

It took three days of persuasion before she stopped coming by after school each evening.

Instead, she went and met David at Granny’s.

She was nursing her cup of tea and staring down into it when he arrived.

To her surprise, he looked even more harried than she did and she frowned. “David? Is something wrong?”

He slid into the booth opposite her. “Kathryn didn’t come home last night,” he said, keeping his voice low. “I thought she might have gone to visit friends, but her cellphone kept going to voicemail, and she wasn’t back this morning.”

Mary Margaret’s stomach twisted in knots. “Have you checked with her friends?”

He nodded. “None of them have seen her or heard from her,” he said. “She didn’t call in to work, and she would never just go off without telling anyone.”

Mary Margaret put aside her teacup. “We have to tell Emma,” she said. Some niggling thought at the back of her mind reminded her of Regina’s words: Kathryn Nolan was the only real obstacle between her and David. Now she was gone, and that couldn’t be good. “This is too much of a coincidence, happening now, with everything else that’s going on.”

“Do you think she’ll have time to help?” he asked. “She seems to be focussing everything she’s doing on Gold now.”

Mary Margaret looked at him sharply. “She’ll do her job, David,” she said coolly. “It doesn’t matter who it is. She doesn’t play favourites.”

He looked doubtful, but nodded. “We should tell her right away, then.”

Mary Margaret tried not to let her annoyance show as she pulled on her coat. It was one thing to distrust Cameron, who had plenty of enemies and had done nothing to endear himself to anyone, but Emma was different. Emma was honest and forthright and he had no justification at all in suspecting her. 

She drove them both down to the station.

It broke her heart to see Cameron in the cell, lying on his back and staring blankly at the ceiling above him. He didn’t even care to look over at the door to see who was coming into the building, because he didn’t expect anyone to come for him.

“Mary Margaret?” Emma said, rising from her desk. “What are you doing here?”

Mary Margaret saw Cameron shift on the bunk, sitting up, surprise on his face. “Something’s happened,” she said, forcing herself to look at Emma. “David says Kathryn didn’t come home last night, and no one’s heard from her.”

Emma looked between them. “Does she have any friends she would stay with?” she asked, sitting down and snatching her notebook. “Any family to speak of?”

Mary Margaret looked at David, who shook his head. “Her family live out of town,” he said, “and she didn’t take any of the cases or bags. She went out to work, and she called to let me know she was going to the store and dropping some books in here, before coming home.”

“She came by,” Emma agreed. “She stayed maybe five, ten minutes yesterday afternoon, and spoke to Gold.” She leaned sideways. “Hey! Gold! Do you know where Kathryn was heading after she finished here yesterday?”

Cameron shrugged. “She had shopping with her,” he said, frowning in thought. “I would presume her final destination was her home.”

“You’d have thought so,” David said, frowning over his shoulder at Cameron.

Mary Margaret looked at him impatiently.

“Dearie,” Cameron murmured. “May I have a word, while the Sheriff speaks to Mr Nolan?”

Mary Margaret nodded, leaving David with Emma, and walked quickly over to the cell. “Is there something wrong?” she asked, perching on the arm of the sofa.

He reached through the bars, offering her his hand, and she took it at once. “There’s nothing wrong, dearie,” he murmured. “Nothing at all.” He looked past her at David, then back at her. “Do you remember what I told you my very first day in here?”

“That I had to be strong,” she said quietly, lacing her fingers through his. 

“Not only that,” he said, meeting her eyes. “You have friends. You need to trust them.”

Mary Margaret felt her cheeks burning. “He doesn’t trust you.”

Her husband squeezed her hand. “He doesn’t need to trust me,” he said. “All I need to know is that you have support while I’m trapped in here. He’s not the only one who won’t believe I’m innocent, but he is the one who will help you where I can’t.”

“Cam, the way he speaks about you…”

“Doesn’t matter,” Cameron said simply. “People talk. That’s all it is. He only wants to be sure you’re safe. No matter what he says, no matter what foolish ideas he’s thinking, trust in the fact that he cares for you, no matter what.”

She lifted his hand, pressing a kiss to his knuckles. “Trying to ensure your wife stays with her lover?” she said in a small, shaky voice. “Cam, I don’t deserve you.”

He smiled wearily. “One day, you might think differently,” he said. He drew his hand from hers and lifted it to brush her cheek. “Go and be with him. He’ll need your help as much as you need his, if his wife really has gone missing.”

“You’re a good man, Cameron Gold,” she said, as he withdrew his arm into his cage.

“Sometimes,” he agreed quietly.

When she turned away, she had to blink away tears as she returned to the man she loved, leaving the man she was married to behind.


	45. Chapter 45

Rumpelstiltskin saw less of Emma as the days went on. 

With the disappearance of Kathryn Nolan, she was chasing down any leads she could, which meant that he was frequently left unattended in the station. Once or twice, Regina got as far as standing in the doorway and glaring in at him, but his request was still holding, for which he was grateful.

The last thing he needed was the Queen pouring acid into already open wounds.

His other visitor, however, was more welcome.

Young Master Mills snuck in when he could. 

Even though Rumpelstiltskin had now been secretly indoctrinated into Operation Cobra, both Henry and Rumpelstiltskin agreed that if Emma ever arrived back unexpectedly and found them talking, Henry would always use the excuse that he was there to visit her. It had the useful benefit of being true, for the boy wanted to spend as much time with his biological mother as possible.

“Did you hear about Mrs Nolan?” Henry demanded, rushing up to the bars.

It was the first time since her disappearance that he been able to visit.

“I did indeed,” Rumpelstiltskin said. “An unfortunate turn of events.”

“Do you think it was my mom?”

Rumpelstiltskin’s lips twitched. “She certainly seems the likely candidate, doesn’t she?” he said. “She has had me locked up to get me out of the way. Now, the only person protecting your mother is Mary Margaret, and Mary Margaret is very good friends with the Nolans.”

Henry sat down on the couch, pulling his rucksack around into his lap. “But why would she hurt Mrs Nolan?”

“Think about it, my boy,” Rumpelstiltskin said. “You have a brain.”

Henry chewed on his lower lip, then exclaimed in horror, “Snow White and Prince Charming are together! If Mrs Nolan vanishes, it makes it look like Snow White or Prince Charming did it and they can’t be together! And if Mrs Nolan is…” The boy went pale. “Do you think my mom would kill her? Like she killed the Sheriff?”

“I think she would try,” Rumpelstiltskin admitted. 

Henry stared at him. “But we can’t let her,” he said in a small voice.

Rumpelstiltskin looked down at his hands, which were laced together. “I think you should pay close attention to your mother,” he said. “This might not be her doing. Perhaps Kathryn simply decided some time away would be beneficial? There are some nice cabins to retreat to in the woods.”

The boy seemed comforted by that at least. “There’s some good news too,” he said.

Rumpelstiltskin raised his eyebrows. “Is that so?”

Henry reached into his rucksack and pulled out his book with a flourish. “It came back!”

Now, that was a surprise.

Rumpelstiltskin reached through the bars. “May I?” Henry handed him the book. “You say it came back? How?”

“It was on my chair in my class,” Henry replied happily. “I guess someone found it and knew it belonged to me.” He leaned against the bars. “Look at the pages further on. There’s a new story.”

Rumpelstiltskin leafed through the book, smoothing the freshest pages. 

They had been inserted so neatly, it was as if they had always been there, though the texture of the newest pages gave them away. 

The story was one he had heard, an echo of a tale of a child and puppets and a not entirely conventional family. So, the writer of the book was someone in Storybrooke, someone who remembered, someone who felt the tale of Pinocchio was one worth the hearing. 

“Tell me, Henry,” Rumpelstiltskin murmured, “have there been any visitors in town lately?”

Henry frowned thoughtfully. “Just one guy,” he said. “He was staying at Granny’s, but I haven’t seen him.” He looked through the bars. “Emma said he tried to get her to move out of your house. She doesn’t like it when people tell her what to do.”

“I imagine not,” Rumpelstiltskin said with a lop-sided smile. He studied the pages of the book, turning them over one by one. “I wonder why this story is important,” he murmured. “It must have been left unfinished for a reason. I wonder what became of that little wooden boy.”

“Because of the curse?” Henry asked. “Would it have turned him back?”

Rumpelstiltskin spread his hand on the page. 

The once-puppet would be a puppet once more. Of course. His father would have realised that, the father who had lost his own parents at such a young age. What desperate father would not do the unthinkable to save their child? He had done terrible things for Bae. What would a man do who had a child who was a miracle of magic twice over? 

After all, there was a way for Emma to come through, so who was to say that there had not been enough of a path for two small bodies, instead of only one?

If not him, then who could this stranger be?

“I have no idea,” he said. “Find out about the man. See if you can talk to him. If he’s the one who added the story…”

“He might be able to help on Operation Cobra,” Henry said. He turned sharply at the sound of booted footsteps. Rumpelstiltskin handed the book through the bars quickly, and Henry scurried over to the Sheriff’s desk, sitting down with the book open just as Emma entered.

There were some conspiracies no Sheriff needed to know about.


	46. Chapter 46

Emma hardly ever came home before midnight anymore. 

Mary Margaret was getting used to sitting alone at her table, with a plate of food left in the refrigerator for Emma when she returned, and a box packed up to be taken to Cameron the next day. 

David didn't like to come to her house, in case people thought something was going on. It hurt to have him thinking that way, especially when they both knew something was going on, but she could understand. It would be much more complicated to explain that they weren't taking advantage of Cameron's incarceration and Kathryn's absence.

She took refuge in her school work, even if she found herself looking at Cameron's empty chair, missing the days when things were simple, before Emma ever came to town, before David ever woke up. Maybe they hadn't been all sunshine and roses and happiness, but they had been content. 

Maybe sometimes content should be enough.

If wishes were horses...

All the same, she knew she would never have wished Emma out of her life. Their relationship felt more like sisters than friends sometimes. They seemed to have so little in common, and yet, they could talk about anything, help each other through anything.

That was why they tried to meet up at least once every few days: strong as Emma was and strong as Cam believed Mary Margaret could be, they couldn't do it alone. Granny's was their usual stop of choice, if only because they usually both needed a cup of coffee by halfway through the day. 

"Any progress?" Mary Margaret asked, scooping up some omelette on her fork.

Emma shook her head grimly. "Kathryn's car didn't turn up anything. It looks like she stopped to go to the records office, according to witnesses, but too many people have passed through there to find prints. No one else was seen coming or going."

"If she didn't take her car, someone must have taken her," Mary Margaret said quietly. "Storybrooke isn't big, but it's impossible to get beyond the centre of town without one, and no one has seen her in town."

"That's what's worrying me," Emma agreed, between bits of her cheese melt. She ate like she had a vendetta, wolfing down the sandwich. "There's no real CCTV around the records offices. Even if someone did snatch her there, we wouldn't have any tapes confirming it."

Mary Margaret looked down at her plate, then back up. If there was no progress on the Kathryn front, her only other hope was for cam's case. "What about the French girl? Has she said anything?"

"She's interacting with people," Emma replied. "That's progress. Her dad swears she spoke a few words the other day, but it looks like she's been locked up so long, her throat isn't cooperating."

"Poor kid," Mary Margaret said quietly.

"Got that right." Emma finished the last of her sandwich and picked up her cup, wrapping her hands around. "The only good news we've had this week is that Henry has his book back. If he could find something in there to explain all this, I'd start believing in his curse-theory, because this place is going to hell." 

"What the hell are you doing in here? With her?"

Mary Margaret and Emma met one another's eyes, before turning to look at the Mayor, who was stalking closer to their table.

"Madam Mayor," Emma said. "I'm having something to eat with my landlady. It's not a crime."

"No," Regina agreed, her eyes flashing, "but while you're sitting around here playing nice with a kidnapper's wife, my friend is still missing. You're not paid to sit and chat when we have one girl who has been a prisoner for God knows how long, and another woman missing."

"I'm looking into it," Emma said calmly, "but I'm only human. I have to eat some time."

"And in such company." Regina scowled at Mary Margaret.

Mary Margaret met her eyes. "She can eat with anyone she pleases."

"Unfortunately, that's true," Regina said, her lips drawing together in a grim line. "But if she wants to socialise with the woman who is having an affair with a man whose wife has mysteriously vanished, while her own husband is incarcerated, I can't help thinking that our noble Sheriff is not going to be impartial as she should be."

The diner seemed to have fallen silent at her words.

Mary Margaret stared at her, colour scorching across her cheeks. She felt sick, and her fork was trembling in her hand. She had never imagined Regina was serious about revealing her relationship with David, but with Kathryn gone, it seemed her restraint was gone too. 

"If that was something relevant to the case," Emma said, pushing her chair back and standing up, bringing herself face-to-face with Regina, "then I'd give a damn about it, but I know for a fact that Mary Margaret has nothing to do with the woman in the basement or Kathryn's disappearance."

The Mayor looked at her coolly. "Really? It smacks of convenience to me. Too many coincidences, Sheriff Swan. Isn't it useful that she now has easy access to Mr Nolan with no spouses to get in the way?"

Emma looked like she wanted to haul back and punch her, but Mary Margaret breathed in, hard and deep. Cameron told her to watch her back around Regina. Cameron told her she was strong. She wasn't going to let Regina wear her down, no matter what she said. 

"If you want to accuse me of something," she said, looking up at Regina, "do it. I have nothing to hide."

Regina bent, bracing her hands on the table. "You had something to do with her disappearance," she hissed. "I know it. Kathryn wouldn't just up and leave without saying anything to anyone. You're the only one who had ever done any harm to her. You were the one who broke up her marriage. You were the one who stole her husband, you little whore."

Mary Margaret knew that if it had been weeks earlier, she would have been on the verge of tears, but not now, not when she needed to be strong and stand her ground, not when her husband believed she could do it. 

"I didn't break anything up," she said, setting her fork down on the edge of her plate. "I didn't steal anyone. Get your facts right, Madam Mayor. Kathryn was the one who said her marriage was over. Kathryn was the one who said her husband wasn't her husband anymore." She pushed her chair back and rose. "If you're going to accuse me of something, you better damn well be able to prove it."

Regina stared at her. It was, Mary Margaret thought with faint amusement, probably akin to being mauled by a lamb. Everyone knew she was sweet and quiet, harmless little Mary Margaret Gold, the fragile flower growing in the shadow of her terrible husband. No one stood up to Regina, especially not her, but that was then. Now, was something else entirely. 

Now, Regina was the woman who had framed her husband and accused her of terrible crimes.

Now, Regina was nothing more than a playground bully, and the only way to beat a bully was to stand up to them.

Now, it was war.


	47. Chapter 47

The Sheriff's station was dark, lit only by a wedge of pale, yellowish light from the streetlamp outside. 

Rumpelstiltskin was not yet sleeping. He would, eventually. He had not spent decades living in hardship to be kept awake by man-made illumination. Now, though, he was watching and waiting, and he saw the change in the shadows before he heard the footsteps.

"I wondered when you would show your face."

Jefferson stepped into the slant of light, taking care never to let his feet cross the edges of any of the tiles. "Your little Sheriff was hanging around too much for my comfort," he said, stepping this way and that across the floor, to approach the cage. "I didn't want to walk myself right into another trap, no matter how pretty the jailer."

"Understandable," Rumpelstiltskin said, rising and wrapping his hands around the bars. "She's safe?"

The madman smiled, thin-lipped, and nodded. "All locked up in a shiny new cage," he said. "She keeps trying to break out. Almost managed it too. You didn't warn me she was going to be smart."

"I barely managed to ask you to take her," Rumpelstiltskin said, curling his fingers more tightly around the bars. "I wasn't sure you would see the message from the Mayor's boy." He studied the man, then asked quietly, "She's unharmed?"

Jefferson's eyes flashed. "You asked me to take her and hold her and that's all I did," he said, grasping the bars above Rumpelstiltskin's hands and leaning closer. "Take the little bird and keep her safe. You're getting soft, Rumpelstiltskin. Protecting the innocent? Whatever will become of you?"

"I'm protecting my assets," Rumpelstiltskin retorted in a low whisper. 

"And what do I get out of this little game?"

"You get to upturn Regina's plans," Rumpelstiltskin replied, baring his teeth. "This isn't the play she expected. The more off-balance the board, the more likely she is to make a mistake." He looked up at Jefferson. "We need her distracted. Off-guard. Emma needs to be unharmed."

"Emma..." The hatter rested his brow against the bars between his hands. "Your little pet. Your little plaything. Does she even see that she's a pawn in your little game?"

"A pawn can become a Queen in the right hands," Rumpelstiltskin murmured. 

The madman snorted derisively. "Another Queen," he said. "Don't we have enough of those to go around?"

Rumpelstiltskin's lips twitched. "There's a world of difference between Miss Swan and our dear friend Regina. The only thing they share is Henry."

"Don't underestimate the importance of the boy," Jefferson warned. "He may be useful in managing Miss Swan, but Regina named her for his father."

Rumpelstiltskin chuckled. "Oh, believe me, my boy," he said, "I'm well aware of Regina's affection for the child."

"And here he is, running errands for you," Jefferson observed. "Does he even know what he's dealing with?"

"He likes to think so," Rumpelstiltskin said. He pushed off from the bars, straightening up. "Have you seen anything new in town? My eyes are a little blinkered by the bars."

Jefferson smirked. "You're talking about Pinocchio, aren't you?"

Rumpelstiltskin shrugged. "Perhaps. I heard tell of a stranger."

"He tried to be a hero," Jefferson said, examining the nails of one hand. "Your little bird was almost let out of her cage."

Rumpelstiltskin's eyes narrowed. "He saw you?"

"Followed," Jefferson corrected with a chilly smile. "That's what I love about this town. There's such a fear of people in authority that they try and do foolish things by themselves. He trundled up to my house in the dark on his bike, and tried to take back what I had rightfully stolen."

"Alive or otherwise?"

Jefferson scratched his chin thoughtfully. "Interesting question," he said. "Once he was a wooden boy, and a wooden man he'll be."

"The magic's failing him?"

Jefferson's eyes gleamed. "Oh no," he said, grinning maliciously. "It's a much sweeter thing. The magic is doing this to him. He was always told to be good or he'd turn back. The minute your pawn settled in Storybrooke, all the rules he had to abide by came back into play. She's turned the world, your golden girl, and there's no turning back."

It should not have been a surprise or a relief or anything of the kind. He had always known Emma's arrival would shake Storybrooke to life again. All the same, it felt like a crushing weight had been lifted from his shoulders.

"You managed to get him talking," he observed. "Did he say anything that might be useful?"

Jefferson perched on the arm of the couch. "Getting him to shut up was the trick," he said, pulling a face. "He was meant to be dear little Emma's protector in this world, but he ran off to play instead. What a naughty little boy he was. And now, he wants to make things right, because otherwise, he'll go back to his roots."

That earned a dry smile from Rumpelstiltskin. "Well-phrased."

"I thought so," Jefferson said with a mirthless laugh. "Did you know he had a book?"

Now, pieces fell into place. Henry's book and the new story that had no reason for being there. 

"You returned it?"

Jefferson smiled, but his eyes were dark. "We need all the believers we can get," he said. "If anyone has a hope of convincing the Saviour that she is just that, it's the boy."

Rumpelstiltskin nodded. "This situation is certainly shaking her convictions." He paused, gazing at the madman, the Hatter of Wonderland, the one who watched all. "You said I had people who were important to me. People I valued."

Jefferson's expression didn't change, his lips still curved in what would have been a smile on anyone else. "You did. You just didn't know it."

Rumpelstiltskin stepped back from the bars. Better than reaching through and tearing off the face of the man who had known she was alive all the time. "You didn't say." His voice sounded flat in his ears, but better that than screaming. "You could have told me then."

"You didn't ask," Jefferson countered, rising from the arm of the couch. "There are a lot of secrets in Storybrooke. Sometimes, it's better not to know. If you'd known, you would have acted on emotion, instead of thinking and planning." He shook his head, still smiling that chilly smile. "I couldn't have that."

"You left her down there," Rumpelstiltskin said slowly, his nails biting into his palms. "You left her in the dark."

Jefferson grabbed the bars suddenly, pressing his face between them, his lips pulling back from his teeth. "I did nothing," he hissed. "That's been my curse. Twenty-eight years of nothing. Why should I hand you something for free, when you at least had oblivion?" He laughed, shaking and violent, and pulled back from the bars into a slice of shadow, hiding his anguished features. "This wasn't my doing. Her pain is in your hands and Regina's. You're the ones who put us here."

Rumpelstiltskin stared at him silently. He was right. The curse had done what it was built to do. 

"I'll see to it that the curse is broken," he said finally. "Watch for my signs."

"I'll watch," Jefferson said in a low voice, "It's all I do." He drew further and further away, pausing by the door. "But I'm growing impatient, Rumpelstiltskin. The curse doesn't bind me as much as it once did. My Grace is waiting. If I don't see cracks soon, you'll force my hand."

Rumpelstiltskin put one hand to the bars. "Get out," he said quietly. "And keep watching, Hatter. You'll see your cracks soon enough."


	48. Chapter 48

Mary Margaret had known for years what it was like to be pitied.

Anyone who saw her with her husband tended to shake their head and murmur what a shame it was that such a nice girl had been taken advantage of.

That was all changing.

Now, she was the one they stared at in contempt and avoided in the street. Regina's words had spread quickly enough to make her a pariah in a town that had only ever looked on her in sympathy. None of them seemed to have heard her own defence of the situation: that both Cameron and Kathryn had made the decision for them. 

All that mattered was that while her husband was in jail, she was fooling around with another man. Now that the other man's wife was missing, she knew the implications that would fall on her head as well. All she could do was keep her head high and hold onto the truth like a life preserver. 

She was strong. She had to be. 

Every time she went to visit Cam, he looked pale and tired, and all she could do was hold his hand through the bars. It was wearing him down, she could see it. The trial was coming closer and closer, but they couldn't find any evidence to tie anyone else to the basement beneath his shop. The fact his fingerprints were nowhere to be found in the basement wasn't enough. The cup, the location of the basement, the fact that the lock was from the shop itself. It was all too incriminating.

Emma had found the grave, it was true, but Regina and the D.A. had both sneered, saying it might have been someone's idea of a sick joke. It may have even been arranged by Cameron himself to raise doubts.

Mary Margaret wanted to scream, to grab people and shake them. How anyone could believe Cameron capable of such a thing, she didn't know. She knew he had done things that were skirting the edge of the law, but every time, it was on the behest of someone who needed help. This was nothing like that. This was something out of a nightmare. 

Out of desperation, she went to the hospital again.

It was almost impossible to get anywhere near the woman in question.

Regina was no longer lurking about, but Moe French had set up camp in his daughter's room, and he hardly ever left. Nurse Hightower, out of some lingering compassion for her, confided that he occasionally slipped out for a smoke behind the hospital, usually just after lunchtime. 

Mary Margaret knew she was probably being a terrible person, but the girl was the only one who could either confirm Cameron's guilt or exonerate him. The truth had to come out, even if the poor young woman had to be forced to face it.

The halls were bustling as usual around lunchtime, so no one noticed that she was skulking about. No one noticed her watching the door of Isabelle French's room. No one saw the way she hurried towards it as soon as Moe French stepped out of the door, pulling his coat on.

Mary Margaret pushed the door open, slipping in, and closed it quickly behind her.

It looked like the girl had changed one cell for another, only this one had white walls and bright lights, and a window. Isabelle French was sitting beside the window in one of two chairs with a book resting in her lap. She was still hooked up to an IV line, and was wrapped in a dressing gown. Her blue eyes - huge in her thin face - stared at Mary Margaret in wary alarm.

Mary Margaret held up her hands. "Don't be scared," she said urgently, moving closer slowly. "I'm not here to hurt you. I just want to talk to you."

The girl didn't move, simply staring at her. Her hands wrapped around the edges of her book, her knuckles white.

"Do you know who I am?" Mary Margaret asked, keeping her voice as soft as she could.

Isabelle French shook her head.

Mary Margaret swallowed hard, coming a little closer, until she was standing by the second chair. "May I sit down?"

The blue eyes continued to stare at her, and finally the French girl nodded.

Mary Margaret sat down on the very edge of the chair. "My name is Mary Margaret Gold," she said quietly. That earned a flicker of panicked recognition, and she spread her hands, palms bare, making herself as harmless as possible. "I know you've been through a bad time, but my husband is in jail for hurting you. He would never do that."

Isabelle stared at her, then uncurled her fingers from the book, turning them over. There were scars all over her hands. Calluses circled her wrists from restraints. She curled her fingers to her palms. "Monsters don't always look like monsters," she said, her voice a harsh rasp.

Mary Margaret trembled. "I know," she whispered, thinking of Regina. "But I know my husband. He's not a cruel man."

The blue eyes closed and opened again. "Are you sure?"

Even if she hadn't wanted to admit it, Mary Margaret knew she had considered the possibility. She had turned it over and over in her mind, night after night since his arrest. "I know it," she said with quiet finality. "He might not be the most law-abiding man, but he's not a bad person."

The woman's hands were shaking, and she bowed her head. "I remember," she whispered in a dull voice. "I remember being forced into a dark room. A dungeon." Mary Margaret felt like ice was pouring through her veins. "Threw me to the floor. I thought he would kill me." She raised her eyes, bright with tears. "And you say it wasn't him."

"It can't have been Cameron," Mary Margaret said hoarsely. "He's not strong enough. His leg is so bad, he can't even walk without his stick."

Isabelle stared at her. "His stick?"

Mary Margaret nodded desperately. "He has a damaged knee. He can barely walk without support."

The girl stared at her blankly. "Barely walk," she echoed quietly, shrinking back into her chair. She grasped her book again, like some kind of security blanket. "Barely walk."

Mary Margaret leaned closer, to try to comfort the girl. The door opened, and she and Isabelle both froze. Isabelle gave a sharp, startled cry, dropping her book and raising her hands as if expecting a blow.

"What the hell are you doing here?" Moe French snarled, storming into the room.

Mary Margaret scrambled to her feet. "I-I just wanted to talk to her."

"Terrify her is more likely!" The florist grabbed her by the arms, dragging her towards the door. "Get the hell out of here. You're not welcome."

Mary Margaret stumbled over her own feet, but she caught herself enough to turn, look at him. "Please," she said, "I know Cameron didn't do this! Please! I just needed her to hear me out."

He stared at her with contempt. "Coming from the town tart, I find that hard to believe," he said, and slammed the door in her face.

She stood there in the hall, trembling. It felt like she was the only person in the world who knew Cameron at all.


	49. Chapter 49

There was only so much one could do behind bars before the tedium became too much. 

Even with the game under way, even with plans nesting within plans like cuckoos in clocks, without ready access to his allies, his tools, his shop, his magic, all Rumpelstiltskin could do was think and even that grew tiresome.

His innocence couldn’t be proved. 

It was as simple as that.

The Queen had done her work too well and too neatly, and one day soon, there would be a trial, and he would be shipped out of Storybrooke. Unlike everyone else in the warped and broken little town, he knew what that meant, and he had hoped that some solution would present itself, some saving grace.

The only person who could prove his innocence was the one person he didn’t want to drag into the whole affair. Belle. From what Emma said, the young woman who wore Belle’s face and body barely spoke. The trauma, the doctors said, was too deep-seated.

Her father was protecting her, sitting with her at all hours, keeping her safe.

Mary Margaret confirmed that, when she shamefully admitted that she had tried to speak to the girl, to ask her the identity of her attacker. 

Rumpelstiltskin had been torn between fury and some measure of gratitude to the woman who was his wife. She was gentle and may have been a soft enough touch that Belle should not have been upset, but the look on her face said otherwise.

Belle must have been upset again, and that hurt more than he could say.

It meant that the visit was not expected in the least. 

The station door opened, and one, maybe two people entered. He didn’t look over, because it was pointless. Mary Margaret had a set visiting hour, and anyone else would only ever be there for the Sheriff or to stare at him, and he had no intention of providing any entertainment.

“Sheriff Swan?”

Emma pushed her chair back. “Mr French! You didn’t let me know you were coming!”

That made Rumpelstiltskin sit upright. His heart lurched. It wasn’t just French. His daughter was there too. The woman he loved, the woman who had been conditioned to believe he was her captor, and tormentor, and he couldn’t let her see his face and be reminded of that.

He stumbled to his feet, to the back to the cell, pressing his trembling hands to the wall as if it might give him a way out.

French was saying something, speaking to Emma. Rumpelstiltskin tried to listen to what was being said, but he couldn’t hear anything over his ragged breathing. He could hear every beat of his heart in. His hands pressed harder against the breezeblocks of the cell wall until his fingertips were bone white and his nails were cracking.

And yet, somehow, he could hear light footsteps approaching his cage, his prison. She was coming back to him when he was standing in a dungeon, his back turned on the one person he never wanted to turn away. The echoes of the past almost drove him to his knees.

He heard the soft sound of her wrapping her hands around the bars.

She had come to look at the beast, the monster who had locked her away from her family, in the dark and the cold, and left her there. It didn’t matter that she was physically unharmed. No. There were so many things worse than physical damage. 

Perhaps, he thought bleakly, it would help her to see him captive and locked away. If it gave her some solace, some hope that he could not come after her again, maybe it was a good thing that she was seeing him like this.

Despite his best intentions, he dared a glance over his shoulder.

She was there, as he knew she would be, her small hands wrapped around the bars, her brow resting against them, and she was watching him. His heart stuttered. There was no fear in her eyes, none of the terror he expected, and he saw Emma and Belle’s father both standing a short distance away, watching him warily.

Isabelle French uncurled one hand from the bars and extended it, trembling, into the cage, as if placing it before a wild beast. She crooked a finger, an undeniable beckoning gesture, and he could not deny her that.

Afraid, more afraid than he had been in decades, in centuries, more afraid than he had been when she had told him it was true love, he turned to face her. 

They had found themselves a dungeon again. It would always be a dungeon, he knew. She was right. He had never succeeded in freeing himself, and even now, it was the only place that he could not run from her.

With careful, limping steps, one hand braced on the bars dividing his cell from the neighbouring one, he approached her. Her eyes flicked down his body, watching his steps, then back to his face. 

She didn’t withdraw her hand or retreat or pull away. 

Instead, she turned her hand palm-up, holding it out to him. He looked down at it, small and pale and trembling. He could see the scars on her fingertips where she had torn at the walls, trying to break free, and he wished he could kiss each and every little wound, and heal her every hurt. He raised his eyes to hers. His vision was blurring already, hot tears stinging, but he had to look at her, see the face he had been unable to remember.

It was paler, thinner, but it was her. Her eyes were still the bright blue he knew they had always been. Her hair was still the familiar chestnut, but drawn back in a braid. It didn’t suit her. It made her look hollow-cheeked, frailer, as if she were crafted from porcelain.

She stretched her arm all the way between the bars, her hand still open before him, as if she was expecting something.

Tentative, afraid that French or the Sheriff would tear him away, he brought his own hand - shaking as much as hers - down to rest, palm-to-palm, and she was alive and real and her skin was warm, soft, damp with nervous sweat. She was really here. She was really alive.

Tears broke from his eyes, no matter how hard he tried to blink them away, rolling down his cheeks.

She curled her fingers around his hand, and she looked down at it, ran her thumb over the back of his hand. She couldn’t know how much effort it took for him to simply let her, not to reach for her, to hold her tightly and never ever let her go.

His breath caught when she drew his hand closer, lifting it and pressing it to her cheek. His fingers were trembling against the soft, flushed flesh. She closed her eyes, as if memorising the sensation, then opened them and looked at him. They were clear and bright, utterly calm.

“You’re not a monster,” she whispered. “Not at all.”


	50. Chapter 50

Mary Margaret was stirring the sauce around the chicken when the front door opened.

“Perfect timing!” she called through the dinner. “Dinner’s just about ready.”

Emma opened the kitchen door, smiling hesitantly. “I brought you something,” she said, nodding through into the hall. “I left it through there. It’s a bit too heavy for me to haul in here. Wanna go see?”

Mary Margaret set the spoon against the rim of the pan, then wiped her hands on the cloth on the counter. “What’s the occasion?” she asked.

Emma’s smile was impish. “You’ll see,” she said.

Curious, Mary Margaret hurried through the door, stopping short at the sight of Cameron standing there. He looked as dazed as she felt, and she ran and crashed into his arms before her mind had really caught up with what was going on.

“Cam?” she whispered, hugging him tightly. “You’re home?”

He stared at her blankly. “So it would seem,” he said.

“He didn’t bribe me to let him escape,” Emma said, from the kitchen doorway, as if she needed to make it clear. “He’s been exonerated.” 

Mary Margaret looked at her. “Thank you!”

Emma raised her hands. “Don’t thank me for this one,” she said. “Thank Isabelle French. The kid came down to the station with her old man, took one look at him and said he wasn’t the man who locked her up.”

“I-I thought she wasn’t going to testify,” Mary Margaret said, clutching onto Cameron. He was holding onto her just as tightly, an arm around her waist, as if he might fall without it. “She’s better?”

“She’s getting there,” Emma said. “Gold, you want to eat? Or just enjoy being somewhere without bars?”

He looked at her in confusion, as if she had just posed a challenging question. “Eat,” he said finally. “I think.”

Mary Margaret tucked her arm through his. “Come on,” she said, leading him towards the kitchen. “You look like you could do with it. I’ll get one of the bottles of wine from the cellar too. Something red.”

He hardly spoke throughout the meal, though he ate like a starving man, and even managed seconds. He excused himself before dessert, and Mary Margaret was unsurprised when she heard the rush of the hot water in the bathroom above the kitchen. 

“Shock,” Emma murmured, setting aside her own wine. “He hardly said two words after she cleared him. He looked like he was expecting to be blamed.”

“Everyone else has been blaming him,” Mary Margaret said quietly. “Maybe he was starting to believe it all after all.”

“Poor bastard,” Emma said, sprawling back in her seat. “At least it takes the heat off. We don’t need to fight to keep him in Storybrooke. Now we just have to find out who the hell it was that put her in there.”

“She doesn’t remember?”

Emma shook her head. “She said something about being put into a cell by a monster,” she said. “She couldn’t give much more of a description than that, but she went right up to Gold, looked him in the eye, touched his hand and said for sure that it wasn’t him. You don’t get much more credible than that.”

“Want to bet whether Regina will say otherwise?” Mary Margaret said with a grimace.

“Screw her,” Emma said succinctly. “A personal grudge isn’t a reason to keep a man locked up.” She stretched, yawning. “At least now I don’t have to split my time between Gold’s case and Kathryn’s.”

They talked about the cases over dessert. Emma must have noticed the glances that Mary Margaret kept darting towards the ceiling, because when Mary Margaret started clearing up the dishes, Emma touched her wrist. 

"Go to him," she said quietly.

"I don't think he'll want company," Mary Margaret demurred.

Emma shook her head. "He will," she said. "Whatever the girl said to him, it got to him. He needs someone to give him a shoulder to lean on." She met Mary Margaret's eyes. "Right now, I think he needs his wife."

Mary Margaret hesitated, then nodded. "Thank you," she said quietly.

Emma shrugged with a half-smile, shooing her away with a gesture.

The upper level of the house was dark and quiet as Mary Margaret climbed the stairs. The bedroom door at the end of the hall was slightly ajar, and as she approached, she could see the bedside lamp on her side of the bed was illuminated, the pale light outlining her husband's back. He was lying on his side, facing away from the door.

"Cam?" she murmured, approaching the bed and sitting down on the edge. 

He didn't move, but said quietly, "I'm awake, dearie."

"Are you all right?" she asked.

He was silent for so long that she almost spoke again. "I don't know," he finally said. His chest rose and fell sharply. "She didn't know if she was going to see the person who hurt her, but she still came." His voice trembled and broke. "She had no reason to be so brave."

Mary Margaret had never heard Cameron sound so fragile, almost frightened. She toed off her slippers and climbed onto the bed, curling up behind him. He didn't protest when she tucked herself against his back, her legs nestling snugly against his. When she slipped her arm around his waist, his hand covered hers, trembling.

"It's all right," she whispered, leaning over his shoulder to kiss his fresh-shaven cheek. "You're free now. She told the world you're innocent, and you're free."

"Free," he echoed, staring blindly at the wall in front of him. 

He didn't sound like he believed it.


	51. Chapter 51

Rumpelstiltskin woke early.

In truth, he was amazed he had slept at all, but it seemed the comfort of his own bed after a decent meal and a hot bath had proved beneficial. The presence of his wife, to his surprise, had also been a comfort. There was nothing sexual between them, not anymore, but when she had wrapped herself around him to reassure him, for a brief period he had felt something akin to safe.

He gently loosened her arm from his waist, rising from the bed and leaving her to sleep. He stood by the bed, watching her for a moment. She was becoming more and more Snow White with each passing day. Every trial and tribulation brought her closer to her true self.

It would take a little more, though, to wake her fully.

He made his way down the stairs, basking in the simple pleasure of walking the floors of his own home without bars to contain him. Storybrooke might be a prison of another kind, but it was nothing compared to the confines of a cell. He made himself a cup of tea, and went to sit in the living room, trying to keep his mind from the knowledge that Belle - though not Belle - was alive, and so very close by.

It was impossible not to think of her, of her hand on his, of the smile that he should never have been able to forget. It was not his Belle, not as he knew her and loved her, and he could not go to her, not without good reason. She had to have time to recover, and he could wait.

The curse would break soon, and he could find her then, when she was herself once more. 

He could and would wait.

He had to.

Some half hour later, he was roused from his thoughts by a knock at the front door.

It was no great surprise to find David Nolan standing there.

Rumpelstiltskin looked at him placidly. "Mr Nolan."

David clasped his hands together. "So it's true? You've been cleared?"

"Unless I am attempting to become a second Houdini, so it would seem," Rumpelstiltskin replied.

David shifted from one foot to the other. "Congratulations, I guess?"

"On my exoneration," Rumpelstiltskin said with only a touch of acid in his tone, "or for having a wife who showed considerable loyalty despite everyone else's doubts?"

The man had the good grace to flush. "I came to apologise to her," he said.

Rumpelstiltskin considered him, then stepped back, opening the door. "Choose your words carefully, Mr Nolan," he said. "We don't want you upsetting her again, do we?" He indicated with his free hand to the stairs. "Second door from the end on the left."

If Nolan had been flushed before, he turned a dark shade of crimson. "Your... your room?"

Rumpelstiltskin gave him a flat look. "I'm not telling you to ravish her awake in my bed," he said dryly. "But I have been incarcerated for several weeks and my leg is suffering for it. You have a younger pair of legs to run up the stairs." He smiled thinly. "Unless you would prefer to sit and make small talk with a man you believed capable of abduction."

David Nolan had the good grace to look to recalcitrant. "Sorry," he said. "I... you have to admit it was a pretty convincing case."

Rumpelstiltskin nodded. "Speaking of cases," he murmured, "I was sorry to hear of Kathryn's disappearance. Have you had any news?"

David shook his head. "Regina keeps telling me Mary Margaret must have had a hand in it," he said. "She's taking it personally, because she and Kathryn were friends."

"And naturally, she would blame my wife," Rumpelstiltskin murmured. "Next we know, she'll be accusing her of murdering her and hiding the body."

David shook his head. "If it comes to that, we know the town's gone nuts," he said flatly. "Mary Margaret couldn't hurt anyone."

Rumpelstiltskin gazed at him. "Indeed," he said. He winced, leaning on his cane. "If you'll excuse me, I think I should sit down." He nodded to the stairs again. "Second from the end, on the left." He remained where he was until David moved towards the stairs, then he returned to his chair in the living room.

He had barely settled when there was a second pounding at the door, this one more violent.

"Regina," he murmured as he opened the door, appreciating the fact she stepped back at the sight of him. "Isn't it a little early to be making campaign calls? The next election isn't for a year."

Her eyes narrowed at him. "How did you do it?" she demanded, her voice ugly with fury.

"Do what, dearie?" he asked, schooling his expression into innocence. "Be set free? I'm quite sure the fact I committed no crime played a large part in it."

She leaned closer. "You know what I mean," she said, eyes flashing. "She remembered you locking her away. I made damned sure of that."

"No," he said with a dark smile. "She remembered a monster locking her away. I'm only a man, and she was clever enough to see through your implications." He gestured to his face. "She never saw this mask, so how could she remember it?"

Regina bared her teeth. "You bastard."

He laughed without humour. "Perhaps," he agreed. 

"And what part is Kathryn playing in your little game?" she demanded savagely. 

"I'm starting to feel harassed again, dearie," he murmured, fixing his eyes on her. "You know I don't like that."

She stepped back, though it looked like her body was being forced to do so against her will. "Your wife might think you're all virtue and goodness," she spat, her hands clenching into fists by her side. "Even the Sheriff might be fooled, but we both know what you are, Rumpelstiltskin."

"You may think you do," he said magnanimously, "but I might be inclined to disagree."

She glared daggers at him. "Whatever stunt you're pulling with Kathryn, it won't do you any good."

He smiled slightly at her. "I don't know what you're talking about," he said. "I've been otherwise engaged, and as you might have noticed, I didn't have many visitors who might be willing to abduct a woman on my account, especially not when I was being accused of that very crime myself."

"Who else would have the balls to go against me?" Regina demanded in a low voice.

Rumpelstiltskin spread his empty hand. "You seem to have great faith in my abilities," he said. "But as I said, I was incarcerated, and you can check the visitor logs. The only people who visited me before Kathryn's abduction included my wife, the victim, the Sheriff and her son."

"He's my son," Regina snarled. 

"Semantics," Rumpelstiltskin replied quietly. "Unless you're suggesting my wife or the boy arranged the kidnapping, I believe my point is made." He met her eyes coldly. "I'm not the person who specialises in abduction around here."

For a split-second, a flicker of malicious amusement glittered in her eyes. "She makes a charming prisoner, doesn't she?"

Rumpelstiltskin was across the threshold, and had her arm in a vice-like grip in a heartbeat. "Please stay the hell away from her and her family," he growled through his teeth. It was no plea nor request, and the vehement force of it made her recoil as if he had struck her. "I can't kill you, but believe me when I say that if you go near her again, I will bring a world of pain to your door."

She laughed bitterly. "Nothing you could do would hurt me."

He smiled, watching her face. "I didn't say I would harm you," he said. He looked down at the handle of his cane, running his thumb over the scrollwork. "Tell me, dearie, would you miss your boy if he was gone?"

She went white as bone. "You wouldn't dare."

He raised his eyes to hers, his expression cold. "Try me."


	52. Chapter 52

Mary Margaret was startled when David woke her. 

In a panic, she looked at the empty space beside her in the bed, wondering if it had all been a dream, if Cameron had never come back after all.

"It's all right!" David said urgently, catching her arms. "It's all right. He's downstairs. He told me to come and wake you." He pulled her into a hug, wrapping her up in his arms and holding her. "It's okay. You haven't lost him. He's just downstairs."

Mary Margaret was trembling hard and clung to him. It took her several minutes to both even out her breathing and to remember that she was meant to be annoyed with him.

She pushed David back, hands at his shoulders. "What are you doing here?" she asked, looking up at him.

"I came to apologise," he admitted. "I've been acting like a jerk."

She let her hands shape his shoulders through his shirt. "You and all of Storybrooke," she said with a sigh. "I can see why you thought what you did. You barely know Cam at all. You had no reason to believe anything he said." She met his eyes. "I trust my husband, David. But you didn't believe me."

"I thought he had you fooled," David said, bringing one hand up to clasp her hand. "But Kathryn said she thought it was a set-up, and then, she was gone, and..." He shook his head. "If someone wanted to take her, when she's never done anything to harm anyone, who's to say they wouldn't set your husband up too?"

She lifted her hand to touch his cheek. "Emma'll find her," she said with certainty.

"I hope so," he murmured, tilting his head into her touch. 

Mary Margaret knelt up and hugged him fiercely. "She will," she whispered against his throat. "She's good at finding people."

David was silent, his arms around her, then he let her go. "We should go downstairs," he said with a rueful smile. "Otherwise, I might disappoint your husband by doing what he told me not to."

"Which was?" Mary Margaret asked, swinging her legs off the bed and searching for her slippers with her toes.

David gave her a heated look, and she felt the colour rising in her cheeks. Since Cameron's incarceration and Kathryn's disappearance, he hadn't looked at her like that, and there was something reassuring knowing that he still felt for her, despite the friction that had been between them. 

"No," she agreed, rising quickly in case he changed his mind. "Not in Cam's bed."

All the same, he leaned down and claimed a quick kiss. "For luck?" he said, when she gave him a reproachful swat on the arm.

She shook her head with a smile. "Come on," she said, grasping his arm. "I'll make breakfast and you can walk me to work."

As fond as she was of both her husband and David, she had to admit that there was something awkward about having both men in the same room. David still couldn't get around the fact that he was sitting in his lover's husband's kitchen, as little as it bothered Cameron. 

Cameron recognised David's discomfort immediately and excused himself. Mary Margaret urged him to stay, but he insisted he had to dress and get to his shop, to see what damage had been done by the hoodlums. 

Cameron had barely left when Emma shambled into the kitchen. She didn't even notice David until she had filled a cup with thick black coffee and dosed it with sugar. Only then, when her world came into focus, did she blink and frown at David.

"That's not Gold."

Mary Margaret hid a smile. "I can see why we voted you in as Sheriff," she said. 

Emma pulled a face at her, sprawling down into one of the chairs at the table. "What are you doing here?" she asked David, fixing him with a stern look. Mary Margaret flushed, knowing that Emma remembered all too well how much David had put his foot in it. 

"I came to apologise to Mary Margaret," he said without preamble. 

Emma's glare remained steady for a moment, then she reclined in the chair. "All righty then," she said. "So, about your missing wife. We need to get on that. The search parties are doing the next sweep in the woods this afternoon. I think it'd be a good idea if you joined them."

"I was planning on it," David said at once.

That earned a nod of grudging approval. 

"What have you got planned?" Mary Margaret asked, doling out eggs and toast to both of them.

"I've got some more house-to-house enquiries to do," Emma said with a yawn. "A few witnesses have come forward, but aren't comfortable coming by the station." She snatched up her fork and started on her breakfast. "Something about not wanting to be blamed if they interfere."

"Blamed?" Mary Margaret said, frowning. "By whom?"

"Who is everyone afraid of around here?" Emma said dryly, then added, "Apart from Gold."

Mary Margaret sat down at the table. "You really think she had some part in this?"

"Gold thinks so," Emma said. "And there are too many coincidences around it. I get framed, then he gets framed, and now Kathryn's gone, she's blaming you."

"Who?" David said, looking between them. "Who are you talking about?"

Mary Margaret looked at him. "You remember I said that the Mayor didn't like me?" she said quietly.

"Regina? You think Regina did this?" He stared at her in disbelief. "All of this? Why? Because she doesn't like you very much?"

Mary Margaret and Emma exchanged looks. 

When he put it like that, it really sounded so petty.

Emma pushed some scrambled egg around her plate. "Who else could it be?" she asked. "If you can give me any answers, David, I'd appreciate, but right now, my gut tells me Regina has some part in all of this. I don't know what or why and I know it sounds ridiculous, but nothing else makes sense."

"Regina is Kathryn's friend," David said flatly. "She wouldn't hurt her."

Emma looked at him, something like pity in her eyes. "I hope you're right."


	53. Chapter 53

The shop was the least of Rumpelstiltskin's concerns. 

The damage was minimal: a couple of shattered window panes and some grafitti on the walls. A cursory glance told him that nothing had been taken. Even if anything had been, it would find its way back to him eventually. It always did. He took the time to board up the windows more securely and locked the door.

There were other matters that needed to be attended to. 

Naturally, Regina would be keeping a close eye on him, so he drove first to his own cabin out in the woods. Once there, he sat on the old wicker chair, eyes closed against the sun, as if enjoying the fresh air and nature. A natural response for someone who had been confined for some weeks.

The forest was quiet, but he could hear the car that had followed him. He heard it arrive, but more importantly, he heard it reverse and drive away, when it became clear that he was going to sit there and simply bask in his freedom.

Rumpelstiltskin opened his eyes and smiled.

The mirror's inability to understand people was astonishingly predictable. Centuries of seeing the very worst of humanity's greed and want, and still he laboured under the illusion that he understood emotion and the twist of the soul that motivated people.

Perhaps it was his own wish for freedom that made him believe that one such as Mr Gold would simply sit and enjoy a sunny day.

Either way, Rumpelstiltskin knew he had lost his tail. 

He waited a further half hour, just to be on the safe side, then returned to his car. The road unwound around him, and he drove away from town, in the direction of the Hatter house. As a further precaution, he parked a good mile from the house and set off into the woods, as if going for a hike, to get back to nature.

Eventually, he reached the house, and Jefferson opened the door before he could reach for the knocker.

"Ever think you might be paranoid?" he said, as Rumpelstiltskin painstakingly ascended the steps.

"Justifiably so," Rumpelstiltskin replied. 

Jefferson stepped back, opening the door. "And the glass is waiting to shatter," he said. "You want a way to deliver the blow."

"I need information," Rumpelstiltskin said. "The Pinocchio boy. You still have him?"

Jefferson's mouth turned up in a brief smile that showed no teeth. "He's not going anywhere," he said. He waved extravagantly to his dining room. "Sit down. I'll fetch tea and the puppet."

Rumpelstiltskin walked slowly into the room. The house was a perfect example of psychological torture for a man living in an endless world of repetition. Each room in the house echoed the room before it. The wallpaper patterns repeated over and over. Even the ornaments on the shelves mirrored one another. Nothing was different.

He sat down at the heavy mahogany table at one of the perfectly matched chairs. 

The curse had held well if Jefferson was unwilling - or perhaps incapable - of changing anything, even within the walls of his house. 

It was some time before Jefferson returned. His companion was thumping along beside him, sounding hobbled, and Rumpelstiltskin turned in the chair as Hatter and puppet entered the room. The little puppet boy had grown up into a man who might have been imposing, but - leaning heavily on Jefferson's shoulder - he looked fragile, his features unshaven and his eyes sunk in deep hollows. 

Rumpelstiltskin's eyes slid downwards.

He could see immediately why the man was leaning on Jefferson's shoulder. Pinocchio's trousers were torn above the knee, and all that was visible of his left leg was a crudely sawn-off wooden stump, cut off halfway down the calf. Jefferson dropped the man into the nearest chair. Pinocchio groped for the arms, pulling himself upright, and looked with pleading terror at Rumpelstiltskin.

"His leg?" Rumpelstiltskin asked, staring blankly at Pinocchio.

"Harder to run away with just one," Jefferson said, ruffling Pinocchio's hair, as if he were a pet. "He knows there are worse things to lose." Pinocchio flinched, his hands tight on the arm of the chair. Jefferson chuckled, leaning down to murmur close to Pinocchio's ear, "Now, you behave, little doll. I have to go and fetch the tea."

Pinocchio was rigid, bone-white with fear, until Jefferson left the room. No wonder, Rumpelstiltskin thought. The hatter had always been a little eccentric, but the eccentricity had been honed into diamond-hard madness from solitude and a looping life so close and yet so far from what he wanted.

"Please, help me," Pinocchio whispered, as soon as the hatter was gone.

Rumpelstiltskin's hands were folded on the handle of his cane. "Why?" he asked. "What can you possibly give me that will make it worth my while? From what I've heard, since you arrived in Storybrooke, you've done nothing but try to destroy the haven I have kept your precious saviour in."

"H-haven?"

Rumpelstiltskin smiled slightly. "Surely you're not arrogant enough to think you're the only one working to have the curse broken. Emma is safe in my home. We have allies. What possible use could I have for a man who avoids his own obligations until he's punished for neglecting them?"

"You can't leave me here," Pinocchio's voice trembled and broke. "I'll tell you everything I know. Please, just don't leave me here. Not with him. The more I turn, the more he'll take, just because he can." Tears broke from the man eyes and he reached out desperately. "I'll do anything."

"You'll tell me everything anyway," Rumpelstiltskin said, meeting his eyes. "If I consider it of use, then maybe, I'll persuade the hatter to let you go."

Pinocchio nodded urgently. "Anything," he said. He shrank back in his chair when Jefferson returned. 

The Hatter was humming happily. He was carrying a tray with teacups and an ornate teapot, which he set down on the table. Rumpelstiltskin looked at the tray. The cups didn't match. Not one of them matched another. That was sign enough that he was starting to break free of the boundaries put on him.

Tea was poured in equal measures.

"Isn't this nice?" Jefferson said brightly, setting tea before each of them. "It's almost like a tea party."

"Almost," Rumpelstiltskin agreed as placidly as he could, taking the tea, but carefully not drinking. 

It was a sad state of affairs when a stubborn child, a broken puppet and a mad hatter were the only allies he had.


	54. Chapter 54

A shoe had been discovered.

Half a mile outside of town, just off the main road, it was found tangled in the long briars.

For the first time in a week, Emma had a break in the case.

In part, Mary Margaret was relieved, but part of her was worried sick about how hard Emma was driving herself. She only remembered to eat when Mary Margaret called her to make her come home. She barely slept. The little time she did spend in the house was with Henry, who was expanding his list of identified characters by the day.

Mary Margaret didn't have the heart to chase him out to let Emma rest, not when it was the only bright point in Emma's day. The fact that it also served the dual purpose of annoying Regina was an added bonus.

She was bringing through a tray of milk and cookies for them when Henry told them a new development she had never heard in the Snow White story.

"I found out why Mrs Nolan is married to Mr Nolan," Henry informed them. He was curled up on the couch beside Emma.

"Because he asked her?" Emma suggested with a drowsy smile. 

He gave her a reproachful look, then looked up at Mary Margaret. "It's because he was engaged to her in the fairytale land."

Mary Margaret frowned. "Wasn't he married to Snow White?"

Henry nodded. "But before he met Snow White, Prince Charming was engaged to a Princess," he said, turning the book around. "Look. She was in love with a brave knight, who was cursed and she couldn't be with him because he was turned to gold." He beamed at her. "That's why she didn't mind that Mr Nolan was in love with you."

Mary Margaret blushed furiously. As innocent as it sounded coming from Henry, she knew a lot of people weren't so open-minded. He really had no idea how serious it was that Kathryn had disappeared, or the affect it was having on people in town. 

As days went on, Mary Margaret noticed people crossing the street to avoid her. The disapproving looks were tangible when she walked into Granny's. Even people who had been friendly towards her in the past were noticeably frostier.

The fact that Kathryn was still missing only made matters worse.

She and David stopped meeting in public places after a cup of coffee was accidentally spilled all over her in such a deliberate way that she knew venturing out with him would only invite abuse. 

That night, nursing a blister from the scalding liquid on her shoulder, she sat silently, biting on her lip to keep from crying. Emma wanted to go after the culprit, but Mary Margaret knew it wouldn't help. She had done nothing wrong. Nothing at all. Her husband, her lover, her lover's wife. They all told her she wasn't doing anything to be ashamed of, and yet, the whole world seemed hellbent on tearing down what little happiness she had managed to find. 

Cameron found her there when he returned from the shop. He didn't need to ask what happened. He simply left the room, returning several minutes later with ice from the freezer, and sat down beside her. He wrapped the ice in his cotton handkerchief and gently pressed it to the blister.

That, more than anything, drew tears to her eyes.

He shouldn't have been the one who tended the wounds caused by her love for David Nolan, but he was the one who was there all the same. He guided her hand to cover the small icepack, then fetched ointment from the bathroom, tending the swelling carefully.

"This shouldn't have happened," he finally said.

She leaned her shoulder against his. "Don't you know?" she said unhappily, "Kathryn's disappearance is obviously all my fault. If I didn't do it myself, I persuaded poor, mentally-troubled Mr Nolan to do it, and he probably doesn't even remember."

"Another of Regina's fine tales, no doubt," he said with bitter derision. 

"I'm cheating on you," she said in a small, tired voice. "I've taken advantage of a man who had amnesia. Who's to say I don't deserve it?"

Cameron lifted her chin gently in his hand, meeting her eyes. "You listen to me, Mary Margaret Gold," he said. "You are better than this. You are better than them. You didn't betray anyone. Nor did that foolish man you insist on loving. Kathryn and I never stood in the way, no matter what any of those idiots believe."

She tried to smile. "You might not believe it, but I was tougher than this when you were in jail."

He tilted her head down and kissed her forehead. "You can be that again, dearie," he said. "I don't need to be your courage. You have plenty of your own."

When he said it, she could almost believe it.

"Do you think Kathryn will be all right?"

He nodded. "I know she will be."

She offered him a tired smile. "I wish I had your conviction," she said. "Do you... I know it's crazy, but do you think she's gone because of Regina?"

"I have no doubt about it," he replied, rising from the bed to fetch shed his jacket. 

She looked at him. He had his back to her as he carefully hung the jacket up on a coathanger. "Why?" she asked quietly. "Why are you so sure she has something against us?"

He looked over his shoulder, his face half-hidden in shadow. "Because I know her better than I would like," he murmured. He breathed out, long and quiet. "Even if I could begin to explain, I doubt you would believe it."

She reached under her pillow to fetch her nightgown. "How bad could it be?" she said, then smiled crookedly. "Unless you plan on telling me that Henry is right about everything, and that I'm really Snow White and she really is the Evil Queen?"

He was silent for a moment, so long that she almost could believe he was going to do just that.

"Do you really believe it could be magic and fairytales?" he finally said, turning with a lop-sided smile. "In this dull, mundane little world?"

"Mundane?" she said, as she changed into her nightdress. "Cam, a young woman was found locked up in your basement. Your wife's lover spent months in a coma before going wandering in the middle of the night. His wife has gone missing. Your Mayor and Sheriff are at one another's throat about everything, but particularly their shared son who not only managed to run away to Boston, but got himself trapped down a sinkhole with his psychiatrist. I don't think this classes as mundane."

"Only by comparison to other lives," he said, not meeting her eyes.


	55. Chapter 55

The breaking of the curse had become a lot more pressing.

Rumpelstiltskin could see events twisting out of his control again. Kathryn's abduction had been carried out to protect her from Regina's inevitable wrath, but now, it was turning on Mary Margaret, an unexpectedly double-edged blade. To make matters worse, he was having severe misgivings about leaving Kathryn Nolan in the care of Jefferson.

He was almost sure that the madman wouldn't hurt her. He was still a gentleman, even if he was completely deranged.

His treatment of Pinocchio, though, was causing concern.

It was practical, there was no doubt about that. Rumpelstiltskin knew his sensibilities had been softened by life in this new world, with no magic or wars or torture in the sleepy little town, but all the same, Pinocchio was terrified of the man and quite rightly so.

Rumpelstiltskin knew the puppet-man would be useful, so he had persuaded Jefferson to release him. It wasn't out of pity, but out of a need to keep any allies he could in one piece. Or, in Pinocchio's case, two pieces so far. He knew that if he had left Pinocchio in Jefferson's care, there would have been a lot more pieces to go around by the end of the month.

Under cover of night, he had brought Pinocchio back to town, stopping in his shop. Pinocchio was trembling too much to do repairs himself, so Rumpelstiltskin had done what he could, fixing the sawn-off leg back to the stump with fine metal plates and screws. The man bit down on his lip and stifled small sounds of pain with every twist of the screw. Sapient wood. He must have felt every instant of the severing of his leg.

And yet, Rumpelstiltskin could not find it in him to care, knowing that the selfish creature before him was the reason for Emma’s blinkered view of the world. He had abandoned her as a baby. It was true he had only been a child himself, but then, so had Bae. Youth could be no excuse for selfishness and cowardice.

Rumpelstiltskin sat back once he was done, looking at the young man who had once been a puppet child. "Are you going to help or hinder?" he asked, lacing his hands together. "Now that you're free, you could turn on me. Gods know you know enough to damage my plans."

"All I want," Pinocchio said in a breaking voice, "is to see my father and to go home. I didn't ask to be a hero."

"No one ever does," Rumpelstiltskin said quietly. He tapped the tips of his forefingers together. "Emma needs to believe, but I have never met a woman more cynical. I doubt even you turning to wood before her eyes would persuade her. We need to use a different means."

"Like what?" Pinocchio asked warily.

Rumpelstiltskin smiled thinly. "The same thing that makes all parents do the unthinkable," he said. "Get back to Granny's, and stay there. If you need food, call out for it. I wouldn't go out again if I were you." Pinocchio nodded at once and Rumpelstiltskin rose. "I'll bring our weapon to you as soon as possible."

In the end, it took three days to catch Henry unsupervised.

The boy was excited about the thought of meeting someone else who remembered. Rumpelstiltskin warned him they would have to arrive separately to avoid suspicion, and Henry eagerly agreed. It was late afternoon before Henry arrived at Pinocchio's room. Rumpelstiltskin was already there, and had been for some hour and a half, examining the half-written pages that Pinocchio had been working on before his capture.

Pinocchio was saying little, though his expression lightened for the first time at the sight of Henry.

"Do I get to know who you are?" Henry asked eagerly, without even thinking to say hello first.

Pinocchio looked askance at Rumpelstiltskin, who shrugged. "He has already identified the majority of the people in the book," he said. "If you don't mind him knowing, tell him if you like."

"No!" Henry said, hurrying closer to stare intently at Pinocchio. "Can I guess?"

Pinocchio smiled wanly. "You can try," he said.

Henry walked around him, scrutinising him intently. "Are you in the book?" he asked. Pinocchio nodded. "Did you live outside of Storybrooke?" Pinocchio smiled more strongly at that and nodded again. "So you grew up." He frowned thoughtfully. "So twenty-eight years from your age to make your age when the curse happened..." Henry frowned. "You're not Peter Pan. I know Peter Pan. He's in my class." He pulled out the book and sat down opposite Pinocchio. He flipped through the pages, then looked up wide-eyed. "You're Pinocchio! That's why the story isn't finished!"

Pinocchio smiled at him, impressed. "Smart kid," he said.

"Don't say I didn't warn you," Rumpelstiltskin murmured. He was occupied gazing at a drawing of a very familiar blade. As much as Pinocchio had confessed to knowing his tale, there was something disquieting in seeing evidence of the fact. He folded the image in half, then into quarters and slipped it into his pocket, then turned back to face them. "So, Henry, you have a very important job to do now."

"I do?" Henry's face lit up.

With the picture of the knife in his pocket a fresh reminder of what he had done so many years, decades, centuries before, the boy's eagerness was a painful reminder of another boy, one who had found a way to free his father, and had smiled, held out his hand and made a deal. 

Now, this innocent, bright-eyed boy was making deals with the devil to free not only his mother, but his grandparents and everyone they held dear.

Rumpelstiltskin could only hope this child could succeed, for if he did, then maybe, Bae could be found, and would be alive and well. Until then, though, Rumpelstiltskin knew he had to focus on the end-game. The curse was the priority. 

Once it broke, then he could think on Bae, but now, Emma and her blindness had to be overcome.

"We need," he said, "to find some way to convince Emma about the curse."

Henry's face fell. "But she doesn't want to believe in magic," he said. 

"We don't need to make her believe in magic," Pinocchio said, a thoughtful look on her face. "We just need to convince her that the book is right."

Henry looked at him doubtfully. "But it's all about magic," he said.

"Not all of it," Pinocchio said, holding out his hands for the book. "I know something that will explain just how the Queen managed to get into a locked building to hide someone in the basement."

Rumpelstiltskin looked sharply at the puppet man. "You know?"

Pinocchio met his eyes. "I can take a wild guess," he said. "Sometimes, she's consistent." He opened the book at a particular page, smoothing the paper with one hand that looked more polished than flesh should. Both Rumpelstiltskin and Henry leaned closer.

"Oh, yes," Rumpelstiltskin murmured. "That will certainly raise some questions."


	56. Chapter 56

“I’m telling you! You just have to try!”

“Kid, this is crazy?”

Mary Margaret leaned around her towering bag of groceries as she climbed the steps to the front door. “Am I interrupting?”

Henry was standing in front of the door, keeping Emma from opening it. “I found the way my mom got that lady into Mr Gold’s basement,” he said fiercely. “She has keys. Keys that open any door! I brought them to show Emma, but she won’t use them!”

“Because they’re just old-fashioned keys,” Emma said, shaking her head. “They’re probably just for decoration. Just because the book says…”

“Why won’t you even try?” Henry pleaded. “If they don’t work, I’ll know it’s wrong, and it they do work…”

Emma looked helplessly at Mary Margaret. “Sorry,” she said. “We’ll let you in, in a second.”

“Oh, don’t worry about it,” Mary Margaret said with a small smile. “If there’s proof of the book being real, I want to see it too.” She set the bag down on the chair and crossed her arms. “So where are these keys.”

Henry pulled a heavy metal ring from his rucksack. Dozens of black keys with skeletal faces dangled from it. It looked like a prop from a horror movie. “I found them in her desk when she was in a meeting,” he said, holding it out to Emma. “Try them.”

Reluctantly, Emma took the heavy bundle of keys. She looked at the modern lock in the door, then at the heavy, many-toothed iron keys on the ring, pulling up one. “Look, Henry, it’s the wrong shape,” she said. “It won’t even fit in the lock, let alone turn.”

He caught her arm with both hands, and looked up so imploringly, Mary Margaret wondered if he had been taking classes. “Please,” he said. “Just try.”

Emma sighed, lifting the ring up and pressed the tip of the key to the lock. Mary Margaret glanced at Henry, who looked like he was holding his breath.

“Huh.”

She looked back at Emma. “Huh?”

Emma looked at her, then moved her hand from the key, which had slid into the lock, as if it was made to go there. “How… how did it do that?” she demanded. She pulled the key back out and tilted it towards the light. “It just looks like a regular, old-fashioned key.”

“It fitted?” Mary Margaret said, leaning closer.

Emma slid it into the lock again.

“Turn it!” Henry said breathlessly. “See if it works!”

Mary Margaret couldn’t help noticing that Emma’s hand was shaking. If Henry was right, if the key turned, there was something much stranger going on in Storybrooke than they had ever believed.

Emma turned her hand. The key didn’t move.

Henry’s face fell. “But it was meant to work,” he said plaintively. “The book said it would work.”

“Maybe it doesn’t work on modern locks,” Mary Margaret said, holding out her own key. “Could you take my shopping in for me?”

Henry nodded forlornly, unlocking the door with the regular key and hauling the shopping bag into the house.

“Don’t say it,” Emma said quietly, holding the bundle of keys in her hand.

“You didn’t try and turn it,” Mary Margaret murmured.

Emma’s knuckles were white around the key ring. “What if I did?” she asked. “What if I turned it and the door unlocked? That’s not going to help the kid get over this fixation on that damned book.”

“But what if it turned because Regina is manipulating everything around here?” Mary Margaret countered, more sharply than she intended. “What if she could walk into our homes, our workplaces, anywhere she wanted, all because of those keys? Isn’t that more important than the book?”

They both looked at the bundle of keys in her hand.

Emma twisted the catch, holding the ring closed, and pulled off the key that had fitted so neatly into the lock. “Later,” she said quietly, closing the ring. “We’ll try later, when it won’t get Henry too excited.”

Mary Margaret nodded, though privately she thought hiding such a thing from Henry would only be a bad idea. “Come on,” she said. “I can’t use your son as my pack mule, while we stand here and speculate on Regina’s schemes.”

It wasn’t surprising that Henry’s mood had taken a downturn. He took back the bundle of keys, shoving them into his rucksack and threw himself down in one of the chairs in the kitchen. From the look on his face, it was if the world had ended.

“Hey, kiddo,” Emma said, trying to placate him. “It fitted into the door. That’s something at least, right?”

“No, it’s not,” Henry said miserably. “I know the book’s real. This was meant to prove it.”

Emma looked desperately at Mary Margaret, as if she might have some idea how to deal with this kind of problem. “Henry, I know you want to believe it, but how can there be magic in the world? Have you seen any?”

“That’s the point! There isn’t any!” Henry said. He looked as if he was going to burst into tears. He scrambled up from the chair. “I have to go.”

“You just got here,” Emma said, holding out a hand.

He snatched his backpack off the floor. “I still have to go.” 

He fled out of the door before she could say anything more, and Emma exhaled. “I should have turned the key, shouldn’t I?”

Mary Margaret gave her a sympathetic look. “I know why you didn’t,” she said, “but I don’t think he’d understand it’s for his own good.”

Emma withdrew the key from the pocket of her pants. “Do you want to…?”

Mary Margaret looked at her. “Do you think it’ll work?”

“Honestly?” Emma met her eyes. “I kind of hope it doesn’t.”

Together, they went back to the front door, locked it, then Emma took the grim skeleton key and slid it into the lock. They exchanged looks.

“Wanna put money on it?”

“Right now,” Mary Margaret admitted, “I couldn’t bet either way.”

Emma’s fingertips whitened on the key, and she turned it in the lock.

The door swung silently open in front of them.

Emma stared at it.

“Oh hell.”


	57. Chapter 57

Rumpelstiltskin tried not to make his visits to Granny's conspicuous, but given how uneasy Pinocchio was being anywhere but the safe, chintz-edged room, he had little choice.

It seemed that young Henry was taking comfort in the fact that he had proof that the curse was real.

When he wasn't enclosed in his mother's clutches or taking refuge at the Sheriff's station with Emma, he could be found at Granny's, talking to Pinocchio about the fairytale land and the people he could remember. It seemed to cheer him up, especially after the keys had failed in their task.

At least, that was what the boy thought.

Rumpelstiltskin rapped on Pinocchio's door and was unsurprised when it was Henry who let him in. The boy's eyes were red-rimmed, but he gave Rumpelstiltskin a watery smile. "Hi, Mr Gold."

Rumpelstiltskin frowned. "Has something happened, Henry?"

Henry rubbed his nose with the back of his hand. "Kinda," he said, looking down. He closed the door after Rumpelstiltskin, and locked it. The boy’s rucksack was tipped over on the bed, a bundle of Regina’s keys spilling onto the bedspread. Rumpelstiltskin made a note to take a closer look at them afterward.

"The key didn't work," Pinocchio said. He was sitting at the desk at his typewriter, with a second chair pulled up close for Henry to sit on. 

Rumpelstiltskin smiled thinly. "Of course it did," he said.

"No, it didn't," Henry said. "Emma put it in the lock and tried to turn it, but it didn't turn."

Rumpelstiltskin set a hand on the boy's shoulder. "Think on it, dearie," he said. "What's Emma afraid of?"

Henry looked up at him, blinking hard. "That the curse is real. That magic's real."

"And what would that key show her?"

"That it is?"

Rumpelstiltskin nodded. "I suspect she was too afraid to believe, especially if you were there to see it," he said, squeezing Henry's shoulder firmly, "but she has kept at least one of the keys, and she has seen that it certainly does work."

Henry's eyes widened. "But why didn't she tell me?"

"Fear of the unknown, my lad," Rumpelstiltskin told him. "She still doesn't want to believe it could be true, but this is planting the seeds of doubt." He gently nudged Henry towards Pinocchio, following him across the room. "She's always suspected Regina is corrupt, but this is adding another layer to that."

"Do you think it'll be enough?" Pinocchio asked. With some days free of the Hatter's clutches, he looked better than he had, though still thin-faced and pale.

"Anything is better than nothing," Rumpelstiltskin said, though privately he believed it would take a lot more than a skeleton key to convince Emma of something that was happening right in front of her. He was quite sure that Peter Pan and the Lost Boys could lead a formation fly-past and she would wave it away and say it was all done with wires.

"I should have stayed," Pinocchio said quietly. "I should never have left her alone."

"In case you don’t know, Henry," Rumpelstiltskin said to the boy dryly, "what Pinoccho is saying is what is commonly known as an understatement." He turned a dark look on Pinocchio. "You were never meant to go with her. She should have at least had her mother. Someone who would have taken care of her as they should have. Someone who could have raised her to be ready for what's coming."

"It's not Pinocchio's fault," Henry said. "His dad just wanted to keep him safe!"

"Parents sometimes do desperate things," Pinocchio said, looking up at Rumpelstiltskin, "without realising the repercussions."

Rumpelstiltskin inclined his head in acknowledgement.

Pinocchio had agreed not to share his tale. 

Both of them knew what it was to lose the only person they had, and both of them were now working towards reunions they feared and longed for. It did not make him like the puppet-man any more than before, but it was justification enough for not leaving him to be carved apart by the Hatter in a fit of pique. 

"So what can we do now?" Henry asked, looking from one to the other. 

Rumpelstiltskin leaned on his stick. "We have given Emma a nudge in the direction of the Queen," he said. "Hopefully, she will investigate her Majesty further. She just needs to find the loose thread in the tapestry and pull it to unravel everything."

"My mom wouldn't hurt Emma, would she?"

Rumpelstiltskin laughed darkly. "I believe she's realised that she can't," he said. "Your mother and her parents are all inextricably bound up in the curse. While your mother could plant memories when the curse was being enacted, they are the only people she can't touch now."

"Too close to the eye of the storm?" Pinocchio asked.

Rumpelstiltskin smiled a thin little smile. "Something of the kind. Emma, particularly, cannot be harmed."

"Oh, good," Henry said, relieved. "Because she's the Saviour?"

"You could say that."

Even if they were his allies, they had no need to know about the charms and magic he had woven into the curse to ensure that true love would break any curse, even the darkest of them all.


	58. Chapter 58

Emma was out again.

Another piece of Kathryn's clothing had been found, and they had brought sniffer dogs back in, in the hopes they might find some trace of her. It was unlikely now, with so many days of rain since her disappearance, and her possessions were scattered further from town than anyone had really expected.

It didn't look good.

As much as David didn't love his wife, he still cared for her, and he confessed to Mary Margaret that even if she was dead, he just wanted to know, one way or another. There was too much, hanging on too fine a wire. He was exhausting himself searching, but he kept on going out with the search parties. She knew why he did. She knew why she sometimes went out too. 

Both of them wanted to find something, some sign that she was all right, something to stop the whispers and nods. 

It was one thing to be called a whore.

It was another thing entirely to have people pointing the finger and accusing her of having some part in the kidnap, if not the murder, of her lover's wife. 

Emma flat-out refused to believe it, but she was one of the only people in town who didn't seem to be speculating.

It was getting to David, even more than it was upsetting Mary Margaret. They met, occasionally, though nowhere near as often as she would have liked. It worried her, every time she saw him. He was drawn, haggard, and sometimes, she wondered if he was sleeping at all. 

"I heard that they were checking all the old cabins," she told Cameron, when she came in from work one afternoon. "Do you think they would have taken her that far?"

"It's an abduction, dearie," he murmured without looking up from the paper. "They could have taken her anywhere." He looked up at her. "What if there was a reason for her being stolen away? What if someone wanted to keep her safely out of sight?"

"Regina again?" Mary Margaret sighed, removing one shoe, then the other and setting them on the shoe-rack.

Cameron folded the newspaper. "Perhaps," he murmured.

"Well, I wish they wouldn't," Mary Margaret replied. "Some people might find it exciting to be blamed for an abduction, but it's not as much fun as you might think."

Her husband offered her a wan smile. "You're preaching to the choir, dearie."

Mary Margaret flushed with a sheepish smile. "Well, at least I haven't been arrested yet."

"Give it time," he said with enough mischief to earn a laugh from her. "Dinner is in the oven. It should be ready in half an hour."

She smiled. "I'll go and freshen up, then," she said.

By the time she returned, he was back in the kitchen, preparing the last parts of the meal. She was halfway to the kitchen door from the stairs when someone knocked at the front door. 

The last time she had opened the door, it had been to a lecture about what a shameful example she was from one of the local religious nuts, so she peered cautiously through the glass panes to avoid a repeat performance. The person on the other side caught her by surprise.

Mary Margaret unlatched the door, opening it. "Miss French?"

Isabelle French smiled nervously at her over a large bunch of flowers. "Um. Hello." She proffered the flowers. "Wanted to bring these."

Mary Margaret stared at her blankly for a second, before smiling. "Thank you," she said, opening the door a little wider. She paused. "I'm sorry, what are these for?"

Isabelle ducked her head shyly. "Your husband was put in jail because of me. Wanted to apologise."

"Oh, sweetie," Mary Margaret said, astonished. "That wasn't your fault." She accepted the bunch of flowers, a gorgeous display that must have taken French ages to put together and smiled at the girl. "Do you want to join us for dinner? We're just about to eat."

Isabelle hesitated. "We?" she asked cautiously.

"My husband and I," Mary Margaret replied. "Normally, the Sheriff would be here too, but she's working late."

"I wouldn't want to get in the way," Isabelle said, twisting her hands together.

"You wouldn't be," Mary Margaret assured her. "Please, it would be nice to have some company, and you certainly could do with the feeding up."

Isabelle blushed. "That would be very kind," she said. "Most people just stare at me like I might do something crazy." She gave a tiny shrug. "Guess people who have been locked in a basement are meant to be unpredictable."

"Well, we like a little bit of unpredictability now and then," Mary Margaret assured her, setting the flowers down on the table in the hall. "Here, let me help you out of your coat."

She was a tiny little thing, smaller than Mary Margaret by several inches, and from the looks of it, her incarceration meant she was much thinner than she should have been. She was wearing a simple blue dress, but it hung on her, far too big, and she self-consciously tugged the sleeves down to cover the marks on her wrists.

"When did you get out of hospital?" Mary Margaret asked, hanging her coat on the peg beside Cameron's.

"Three days ago," Isabelle replied, glancing down. "Shoes off?"

"Please."

The girl quickly stepped out of her small flats and placed them neatly on the shoe-rack, looking up at Mary Margaret to check she was doing it correctly. No doubt everything she did was scrutinised, just in case years of being locked away had turned her mind. 

Mary Margaret picked up the bunch of flowers, then looped her arm through Isabelle's. The girl stared at her in astonishment, as if no one had touched her in such a simple, friendly way before. "Come on," she said. "Cameron should almost have finished preparing dinner, and he always makes far too much."

"He won't mind?"

Mary Margaret shook her head at once. "We don't have many visitors," she said, "but the ones we do are welcome." She used her elbow to nudge the kitchen door open. "Cam, we have a guest."

He looked around from the cooker, and to her surprise, the colour seemed to drain from his face, his eyes widening in shock. He recovered quickly, but she never expected him to look as if he'd seen a ghost when the girl walked into the kitchen.

"I-I can go," Isabelle said, no doubt as startled by the look on his face. 

"No," he said quickly, almost urgently. "No, it's all right. I didn't expect to see you again, dearie. That's all."

Isabelle looked nervously at Mary Margaret, then back at Cameron. "If you're sure."

He licked his lower lip anxiously. Mary Margaret couldn't remember an occasion when he had ever looked less sure of himself. "If we're not stealing you away from some other important arrangement? I have no doubt you're enjoying your freedom? Seeing all kinds of new things?"

Isabelle's expression brightened. "I am," she said, twisting her fingers together. She added, "and this is the first time anyone has invited me to dinner."

The smile that crossed his face was the quiet, gentle one that so few people ever saw, and it warmed Mary Margaret that he was being so kind to a girl who had clearly suffered so much. "Then we shall do our best not to disappoint," he said with a flourishing bow, waving his hands extravagantly.

When Isabelle smiled in return, it could have lit up the room.


	59. Chapter 59

Rumpelstiltskin could barely keep his eyes from Belle.

No. 

Isabelle.

He had to remember that at this time, in this place, she was Isabelle French. 

She had no idea of the impact she had had on his life. She didn’t know that a smile from her made his heart race. She couldn’t imagine that if all the world was stripped away from him, she was one of only two people he would never let go of.

Despite her delicate size, she ate two helpings of his steak pie easily. She sheepishly explained her father’s skill in cookery was limited to calling for takeout, so having something home-cooked was as much a treat as spending time with other people.

He let Mary Margaret lead the conversation, because he was fairly sure that anything he wanted to say would be completely inappropriate: how are you was probably all right. You look very well, might just pass judgement. I’ve missed you every moment of every day since you walked out of my life was possibly a little too much. You promised forever and if you’ll have me, I’ll hold you to that, was definitely too far.

She was Isabelle. She was Isabelle French. She wasn’t Belle.

He kept his eyes on his plate or Mary Margaret as much as possible, but when she spoke, he could not help but look at the woman who had stepped into his life as a deal, torn down his curtains, chipped his cup, kissed a monster, and walked away when he couldn’t face all that she was offering him.

They talked of what Isabelle wanted to do, what Mary Margaret taught at school, where the best places to walk in Storybrooke were, recipes for the best red velvet cakes, even about clothes, and all the while, he just let himself listen.

If a question was put to him, he answered as briefly as possible, motioning for them to continue their conversation as he took his time over his meal. Better to look like he was fully occupied than to appear too attentive to her every word.

He didn’t want to accuse Mary Margaret of betraying him, but when she excused herself to go to the bathroom, he wished he had somewhere else to be. His plate was empty, and he had no one and nothing to distract him from her. 

He got laboriously to his feet and started gathering up the plates, keeping his eyes down.

“That was lovely,” Isabelle said. “Thank you.”

He licked his lips, swallowed hard as he moved closer to her to collect her plate. “It’s no matter,” he said, reaching out for her dishes. He almost dropped the plates he was holding when her hand touched his wrist, a brief brush of contact. He raised his eyes to her face. “Yes, dearie?”

“I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable,” she said, looking at him with those familiar, beautiful eyes. “I’m sorry.”

“Un-uncomfortable?” He wanted to curse the way his words tripped on his tongue. “I don’t know what you mean.”

“You do,” she said quietly. “You’re being so quiet. You don’t look at me.”

He closed his eyes. By trying to keep from frightening her, he inadvertently was harming her even more. “I’m a foolish old man, dearie,” he murmured. “I have no idea what to say to pretty young things like yourself.”

She blushed, then rose from the chair and started gathering up the dishes he had missed. “I think you can talk to me like you would talk to any other person,” she said, picking up the cutlery before he could protest.

But, he wanted to argue, you’re not any other person. You’re her. You’re Belle. You’re the only person in the whole world who cared for me after my son…

“And how would I do that, dearie?” he asked, carrying the plates towards the sink. “What about those Red Sox or some such nonsense?” He slanted a look at her, as she accompanied him, bringing the last of the dishes. “Or shall we start traditionally? How about the weather?”

He was more than a little pleased and gratified when giggled.

“It’s a start,” she said, offering him a small smile. “Maybe you can tell me the secret of how to get the pastry so fluffy? I can never make it puff.”

“Ah, no,” he said, wagging a finger at her. “You just want to steal my baking secrets.”

“You’re on to me.” Her lips twitched and the expression was so heartbreakingly familiar that he turned back to the sink, forcing himself to catch his breath. She nudged him. “Let me?”

“Let you…?” he echoed, looking at her in confusion.

She pointed to the sink. “You cooked. Let me help do the washing up.” She smiled at him, bright and warm. “I promise I won’t break anything.”

He stared at her for a moment too long. A cup, he wanted to say. I still have it, you know. I locked it away, somewhere safe, so she can’t take it away again. I know it’s silly, dearie, but it reminded me of you.

Instead, he said, “If I had a dollar for every time I heard that…”

“You would be a rich… well, richer man?” she said, somehow managing to shunt him sideways and take his place at the sink, turning on the faucet. 

He looked sheepishly at her. “I wouldn’t ever have a dollar,” he said.

She dissolved into that merry laughter which had echoed in the halls of the Dark Castle so often, and shook her head. “You’re kind of weird,” she informed him.

One side of his mouth turned up. “It has been said,” he agreed. He took up the dishcloth. “I tell you what: so we can get this done more quickly, you wash and I’ll dry, then we can have Mary Margaret whip up some kind of dessert.”

Isabelle shot a shy smile at him. “She doesn’t have to. I feel a little rude, showing up, eating all your food.”

“Consider it compensation, dearie,” he said, “for all the time I didn’t even know you were going hungry beneath my shop.”

Her smile faltered for a moment, and he could have bitten his foolish tongue. She looked down at the bubbles frothing up in the sink. “You’re the first people who haven’t asked me what it was like down there,” she said quietly.

He hesitated, then touched her shoulder, gently squeezed it. “What’s to know?” he asked. “I can’t imagine a basement would be very exciting. Walls. Floor. Ceiling. Seen one, seen them all kind of thing. ”

She almost laughed, a tiny soft breath of a sound that shook her thin body. “No,” she agreed, raising her eyes to look at him. “It wasn’t exactly what they advertised on the brochure.”

That she was able to joke about it all was astonishing and he could feel the smile on his lips as he said, “What? No pool?”

“And the view was crap,” she replied, her expression deadpan.

They just looked at one another for a moment, then both started laughing. 

She sank her hands into the water and started washing the dishes. He couldn’t recall the last time he had washed the dishes by hand, but he didn’t have the heart to protest. “If I said something like that to anyone else,” she said, “they’d get me back to the shrink. Post-traumatic-something or other.”

“More fool them, then,” he said, drying each dish as she handed it to him and stacking them neatly on the counter. “If they can’t see that you are a little eccentric, it’s their loss.”

“Eccentric.” She rolled the word around on her tongue. “I like that.” she glanced up at him with a smile. “Better than post-traumatic-whatever crazy chick.”

“You’re certainly not crazy,” he said so abruptly that she looked at him in surprise.

“You’re pretty certain there, aren’t you?”

He smiled crookedly. “Would you rather I thought you were?”

She wrinkled her nose. “Good point,” she concurred. She started working on the cutlery, scrutinising each piece as she scrubbed it until it shone. “Can I ask you something? About the day I came to see you in the jail?”

He polished a fork dry with extra care, not meeting her eyes. “Of course, dearie. Anything you like.”

She swirled a spoon in the water. “You cried,” she said quietly. “Why?”

He set one fork on top of another, lining them up neatly. “You reminded me of someone I once loved,” he replied finally. “Someone I lost many years ago.” He looked at her. “I have never met someone as brave as her until you walked in the door.”

She was silent for several minutes, then her warm, wet hand covered his on the cutlery. “I’m not brave,” she said, looking up at him.

“Just doing the brave thing and hoping bravery will follow?” he suggested, meeting her eyes.

She smiled and nodded. “Exactly.”


	60. Chapter 60

Neither Cameron nor their guest noticed that Mary Margaret had returned. 

She leaned against the doorframe in silence, watching as the girl washed the dishes by hand, and Cam dried them. For all that he had been silent throughout dinner, it seemed that Isabelle had found a way to get him talking. 

When they both started laughing at some absurd exchange about Isabelle’s captivity, Mary Margaret’s lips twitched. Very few people seemed to appreciate Cam’s sarcastic sense of humour, and of all the people to not only hear it but appreciate it, she never imagined that the girl he had been accused of kidnapping would be that person.

It was rare to hear him laugh too.

Very little earned even a smile from Cam.

She knew much of that was to do with his past, the past that he seldom spoke of. There was grief and loss there. Mary Margaret knew there had been a child, but when he confessed to Isabelle that she reminded him of someone he had loved and lost, Mary Margaret wasn’t surprised at all.

All the same, she didn’t want to be caught eavesdropping, so she crept back to the stairs, up to the first landing, then walked back down them with footfalls loud enough to be heard.

Cam and Isabelle had moved apart from one another by the sink, and he was stacking dishes into one of the cupboards, while Isabelle was trying to find which part of which drawer each piece of cutlery went into.

“I leave for five minutes and all the housework gets done?” she said with a smile.

Cam looked over his shoulder as he put the plates away. “You have to wrangle dessert, dearie,” he said. His eyes darted over to Isabelle, as she shut the drawer. “My skills are limited to the savoury, rather than sweet.”

“You don’t have to,” Isabelle said at once. “Really.” She gave Mary Margaret a small, shy smile. “I didn’t mean to pay my way into dinner with flowers.”

“Let us fuss,” Mary Margaret insisted, shooing the girl to sit back at the table. “We don’t do it often, so you should enjoy it while you can.”

Cam shook his head with a chuckle, as he filled the kettle. “You’re taking our hospitality, whether you want it or not,” he said, earning a snort from Mary Margaret and another quiet laugh from Isabelle. 

In the end, dessert ended up being nothing more than fresh fruit and ice cream in a makeshift sundae. Cam tutted over the lack of imagination, earning a punch to the arm. Isabelle insisted it was perfect, curling up like a contented cat on the chair, as she devoured the lot. For such a slight little thing, she was obviously making up for lost time. 

“You’ll have to come by again,” Mary Margaret said, when Isabelle said she really should be getting home.

Isabelle looked shyly from her to Cam and back again. “I’d like that,” she said. 

“Even if we force hospitality on you?” Cam said in mock horror.

The girl looked at him gravely. “That’s a chance I’m willing to take.”

Mary Margaret’s eyes darted between them. “Why do I feel that the average level of sarcasm in Storybrooke has jumped up a dozen notches in the last two hours?” she said dryly, amused that Cam grinned, his golden tooth glinting, and Isabelle blushed. 

They saw their guest to the door, and Cam even insisted on calling and paying for her to get a cab home, just to make sure she didn’t get lost in the darkening twilight.

Isabelle waved from the car as it pulled away.

“Isn’t she adorable?” Mary Margaret said, closing the door.

“Surprisingly sane for someone who has been a prisoner for so long,” Cam agreed, making his way towards the living room and sinking down onto his chair. “And I’m sure she could eat for Storybrooke if there was a competition.”

“I’m glad you talked to her too,” Mary Margaret said, sitting down in her seat and tucking her feet up underneath her. “When you hardly said a word through dinner, I wasn’t sure if I’d made a mistake inviting her in.”

Cameron sprawled back in his chair, lifting one hand to remove his tie and undo the top button of his shirt. “It wasn’t a mistake,” he said. His expression was calm for the first time in weeks, even months. “It was just a shock to see her here, in our home. I thought I would never see her face again.”

“After the jail?”

“Hm?” He shook himself from some reverie or other. “Oh. Yes. Since the jail. When you’ve been accused of kidnapping someone, you don’t expect your wife to invite them in for tea when they bring you flowers.”

She rolled her eyes at him. “She looked like she could use a friend,” she said.

“I don’t doubt that,” Cameron murmured, his expression turning sombre. “And she comes to us. Poor thing doesn’t know how much trouble we could be for her. I, the accused kidnapper. You, the suspected kidnapper. She, the kidnappee.”

“We didn’t do anything wrong,” Mary Margaret said evenly, “and if we’re the only people who treat her like a person rather than a victim, then I think she can come around here any time she wants. If she wants a friend, she can have one.”

“Two,” he corrected with the smallest of smiles. “She can have two.”

Mary Margaret raised her eyebrows. “Cameron James Gold,” she said in mock-shock, “Did I just hear you say you wanted a friend? Are you sick? Or is the Apocalypse coming?”

He shook his head, chuckling. “And you had the gall to accuse myself and our guest of raising the sarcasm quota,” he said. “I think you have done quite well on your own.”

She flashed a quick smile at him. “I have no idea what you mean.”

His lips twitched. “Indeed.”


	61. Chapter 61

Technically, Emma was meant to be off-duty, but Rumpelstiltskin had to admire her dogged determination to get to the bottom of Kathryn’s disappearance.

She was up, first thing on the Saturday morning, poring over maps of the area.

“Looking for clues?” he asked, as he made himself a cup of coffee.

“I had a phone call late yesterday,” she said without looking up. “Someone said they thought they had found some of Kathryn’s things on their land.”

“And you didn’t go running?”

She raised her eyes. “I’m a city girl through and through,” she said. “All this countryside gives me a rash, and I didn’t want to break my neck on a hike in the middle of the night.” She turned the map over. “You got any idea where the Hatter house is? All these places are numbered, but there’s no key.”

Rumpelstiltskin’s hands tensed around his cup. “Hatter?” he said. “Your newest source is someone from the Hatter house?”

She looked at him. “You know them?”

“I know the man who lived there last was best avoided,” he replied. “The story in town was that he was a recluse, driven mad by the loss of a loved one.”

Emma made a face. “First we’re living in a cursed fairytale land, and now you’re telling me we’re in a Gothic novel. You make it sound like I’ll go up there and find a crazy wife locked in the attic.”

Rumpelstiltskin almost winced. Perhaps not a crazy wife, and possibly not in the attic, but there was definitely someone locked up in that house, someone who needed to be kept safely out of harm’s way.

“Never disbelieve urban legends,” he cautioned. “Often, there’s an element of truth in them.”

She rolled her eyes expressively. “Do you know where the house is or not?” she asked. “I have to follow every lead, even if they take me to places that big, scary Mr Gold wouldn’t go to.”

He pursed his lips, thinking of the man who awaited her there. “I didn’t say I wouldn’t go,” he said, approaching the table, coffee cup in hand. “I only said I wouldn’t recommend it. Take a gun with you. A large one. And I wouldn’t drink anything or eat anything.”

“Let me guess,” Emma said, spreading the map for him. “He poisons people?”

“Be cautious,” Rumpelstiltskin said simply. He tapped a house on the map. “That’s the Hatter house. There’s an off-road to it, on the main road out of Storybrooke. If you can avoid spending any length of time there, do it.”

Emma folded up the map. “It isn’t like you to be skittish,” she observed. 

“That should tell you something,” he replied. “If you’ll excuse me, I need to get down to the shop. I have a delivery coming in today and Saturdays can be quite busy.”

By the time he left the house, Emma was barely even halfway to upright. For weeks, she had been running on less than half a dozen hours sleep, so he wasn’t surprised she was taking her time for one day.

He retreated into the shop for some solitude and to try and process what had happened the day before. 

Belle - Isabelle - had been the perfect guest at dinner. She was, in spite all of her suffering, still the Belle he remembered and loved. She talked back to him, made him smile in unexpected ways, and wasn’t the least bit afraid of him.

On the whole, he was very proud of himself for not leaning down and kissing her when they were doing the dishes together.

He didn’t know how he could ever have forgotten that mischievous light in her eyes, or the way her lips twitched when she tried to hide a smile. The way she stepped right up to him, unafraid to get close, used to terrify him, and now… now, it still terrified him, but only because it made him feel like his heart was about to beat it’s way through his chest.

He sat in silence in the quiet of the backshop, gazing at the point in the floor where the trapdoor was hidden. It was horrifying to think that for all the time he had lived and worked in the very building, he had no idea that he was walking right above her head.

She didn’t blame him.

He wished he could say the same.

His hands had built the curse. He was the one who had driven her out. He was the one who left her unprotected, accessible to Regina to be trapped and penned away until she was needed. That Regina had used her to try and get him expelled from Storybrooke was tantamount to using Belle as the weapon that would kill him.

Only Belle’s great heart and courage had saved him.

She had tried to save him and free him then, but had failed.

This time, she had succeeded.

Rumpelstiltskin ran his hands over his face. 

He thought it impossible to get past the guilt, but when she had spoken to him, laughed with him, for that brief and shining moment, there was nothing in the world but them. Guilt, pain, misery, solitude. All of it went away, and they smiled together.

If - no, when - the curse broke, he didn’t know if she could look at him kindly again, but for now, he had that moment, and she had smiled.


	62. Chapter 62

“It should be up here somewhere.”

Emma tilted the map this way and that. “I swear Gold told me where it was,” she said.

Mary Margaret shot a sidelong glance at her, hiding a smile. “I don’t think saying ‘off the main road out of Storybrooke’ is really considered a direction. There’s a lot of road from town to the city limits.”

The Sheriff had driven up and down the main road for an hour before coming back to the house and asking Mary Margaret if she would be able to help her find the Hatter house. She had seen it often enough, but she had never driven close.

“Ah! There!”

“Where?” Emma demanded, peering around.

Mary Margaret flicked on the indicator and turned right through low-hanging brush that was serving a fine purpose of hiding the side road. “I’m not surprised you couldn’t find it,” she said. “This part of town is half-wild.”

“Yeah, I’m getting that,” Emma said, scowling at the overgrown road as if it had betrayed her. She leaned forward, resting her arm on the dash and peered through the trees. “What kind of person lives all the way out here?”

“An eccentric millionaire?” Mary Margaret suggested. “No one knows.” She shot Emma an impish look. “Maybe he’s Storybrooke’s version of Batman?”

Emma snorted, sprawling back into the passenger seat. “First fairytales, then Gold spins a tale about some kind of crazy Gothic recluse, and now, you’re saying Batman? Can’t it just be some guy living in some house because he likes the quiet?”

“In Storybrooke?” Mary Margaret said with a laugh. “Are you serious? The way things are going, I wouldn’t be surprised if he was an evil mastermind and this was his lair.”

“No,” Emma said, “that’s Regina.”

Mary Margaret shook her head with a rueful smile. “I’m starting to believe it,” she said. She leaned forward to squint through the trees, searching for their destination. “Ah! There it is!”

Emma’s eyes widened. “That’s a house? It looks like a hotel or a casino or something.”

“Just a house,” Mary Margaret said, slowing as they drove up the drive.

The place looked beautiful, but as they got closer, signs of neglect were visible. Ivy crept up the walls, and the white frontage was stained with leaks from the gutters edging the roof. The curtains were half-drawn in most of the windows. It looked like it had been abandoned some time ago. 

“I think Gold wins the gold star for describing this place,” Emma said as she climbed out of the car. “This looks like it should be in a horror movie.”

“If this contact of yours opens the door with an axe, I’m out of here,” Mary Margaret said, shutting the door of the car and locking it.

“I’ll be right behind you,” Emma agreed.

Both of them jumped when Mary Margaret’s cellphone shrilled. They looked at each other, then both laughed sheepishly.

“I’ll get that,” Mary Margaret said, lifting the cell to her ear. “Hello?”

“Hey, Mary Margaret.”

Mary Margaret smiled. “David! Hi! How are you?”

“I’m…” The paused was enough for her to know he wasn’t great. “I’m okay, I guess. I was just wondering if you wanted to have dinner or something? We can stay in or go out or whatever. I just need something… God, I can’t stop thinking and I just want to stop thinking for a while.”

Mary Margaret nodded sympathetically. “I know,” she said softly. “How about you come by my place and I’ll make us dinner tonight? Cam’s got plans later in the evening, so he wouldn’t mind.”

“That sounds great,” David agreed. He sounded exhausted. “I was going to join the search teams again today, so I’ll be done around six.”

“I’ll be home by then,” Mary Margaret said. “I’m just helping Emma out now. It shouldn’t take long.”

“See you then.”

Emma smiled ruefully. “I don’t know how you do it: a husband and a boyfriend.”

“God knows,” Mary Margaret admitted as they jogged up the steps towards the front door. “I don’t think I’d recommend it, though. As much as I love David, and as important as Cam is to me, it gets confusing.”

“I’ll say,” Emma said, raising her hand to ring the bell.

Before she could even touch it, the door was pulled open.

“Hello there.” The man in the doorway smiled broadly at them. He was probably only a few years older than them, handsome and dark-haired, and dressed in the most ostentatious clothes that Mary Margaret had ever seen. He looked at Emma. “You must be our gallant Sheriff?”

She held out a hand. “Emma Swan,” she said. “This is Mary Margaret Gold.”

The man glanced at her with a quick little smile. “Mrs Gold.” He bowed slightly, something from a bygone era, then opened the door a little wider. “Call me Jefferson.” He motioned for them to come in. “I’m glad you came by.”

“You said you had information about Kathryn Nolan’s disappearance?” Emma said, as they walked into an opulent hallway. 

Almost identical rooms branched off on either side, with a strange mirroring effect. If the front of the building was so huge and elegant, Mary Margaret could only begin to imagine just how big the rest must be.

“Oh, yes,” Jefferson said, leading them into a living room. “Take a seat. Would you like something to drink? Tea or coffee or something?”

Emma glanced at Mary Margaret, then shrugged. “Sure. Why not? Tea would be great.”

Mary Margaret smiled and nodded. “Sounds good.” She glanced around as Jefferson walked briskly away to fetch tea. It was ridiculous to feel so paranoid, but something in the house felt off, not quite right. “Emma…”

“Yeah,” Emma murmured. “Something doesn’t feel right.”

Mary Margaret looked around the living room. It was almost perfectly symmetrical, right down to the placement of the piano. Even the ornaments stood exactly the same distance apart on the mantlepiece. “Looks like obsessive-compulsive gone to town,” she murmured.

“That doesn’t mean he’s a bad guy,” Emma said diplomatically. “Maybe that’s why he stays away from town. It’s too chaotic for him.”

“Poor man,” Mary Margaret said, though she couldn’t help thinking it was more than that. It wasn’t just the décor. It was everything about the house. It felt too big, too empty, too quiet, too much, and it was unsettling. 

When Jefferson returned, Emma was sitting on the couch, while Mary Margaret was looking out of the window at the overgrown garden. For all the obsessive neatness indoors, outside looked like a jungle.

“It’s Earl grey,” Jefferson informed them. “I have milk, lemon, honey, cream, sugar…”

“A slice of lemon for me,” Mary Margaret said with a quick smile. 

“Just a little milk,” Emma added.

He poured into mismatched cups, something that struck Mary Margaret as strange given the rest of the house, then handed Emma her cup. “Do you want to sit down?” he asked Mary Margaret, looking at her intently. 

“I was wondering if you have a bathroom I could use,” Mary Margaret said with a guileless smile. “I didn’t have a chance to go before we left the house.”

He put his head to one side. “Of course,” he said. “Straight up the stairs to the second floor, third door on the left.”

She smiled at him and headed for the stairs, as Emma took a sip of her tea and asked him what he knew about the missing Kathryn. 

When Mary Margaret reached the top of the stairs, she looked around quickly. Like the lower level, everything about the hall seemed to mirror itself. The same number of doors were lined up on either side, and twin corridors branched out to the right and left. It was like being thrown into some kind of mirror puzzle.

A faint pounding reached her ears from the right hand corridor.

Mary Margaret bit her lip.

There was something off about this place, something that made her gut twist up uneasily. It wasn’t like she had ever really had instincts for danger, but right now, they were screaming that something weird was going on.

She glanced back, then darted down the hall towards the source of the sound.

It sounded like someone was beating at a door and at the end of yet another corridor that looked exactly like all the others, she found the source. The door was plain, with nothing to distinguish it from any others except the heavy brass key that hung on a hook beside it.

Mary Margaret’s hands were trembling as she lifted the key down and slid it into the lock. It looked like it should be stiff with age and disuse, but it turned as smoothly as butter.

She took a trembling breath and pushed the door inwards.

There was a room, just a plain and simple room, but it was notable because not a bit of it matched any other part. There was a bed skewed at a strange angle, with mismatched bedding and a headboard that didn’t match the foot. Two different chairs were tucked under a table, and both the curtains were different colours.

Mary Margaret peered around the dimly lit room. There was no one there that she could see.

“Hello?”

There was an explosive gasp from behind the door. “Mary Margaret?”

Mary Margaret stared in astonishment as Kathryn Nolan emerged from behind the door, wielding something that looked like a broken chair leg, upraised in her hands. “Kathryn? What are you doing here?” Her eyes darted down. There was a long chain, trailing from Kathryn’s ankle to a metal ring imbedded in the wall. “Oh my God…”

Kathryn looked past her, colour draining from her face.

“She’s here because I brought her here,” Jefferson said conversationally.

Mary Margaret spun around to find a gun pointed at her. “What are…”

He smiled benignly. “I need to borrow your Sheriff for a little while,” he said, “and two hostages are so much better than one.” He made a curt gesture with the gun. “In you go, Snow White.”

Mary Margaret took half a step into the room. “What have you done with Emma?” she demanded in a low voice, her hands curled into fists by her sides.

He chuckled. “She’s having a little nap just now,” he said. “Don’t worry. As long as she does what I ask her to do, everything will be fine.” He stepped closer and pressed the gun to her head. “Now, please step into the room or I will have no qualms about putting a bullet between your eyes.”

Kathryn caught her by the arm, pulling her into the room. “Don’t make him mad,” she murmured, her eyes on her captor.

“Smart girl, smart girl,” Jefferson said, pleased. “And your phone, Snow? We don’t want any heroes trying anything silly, do we?”

Mary Margaret pulled her phone from her pocket and threw it at him, but that only made him laugh. “You’re crazy,” she snarled.

He waved vaguely with the gun. “I like to think I’m enlightened,” he said. “Now, don’t go anywhere, my pets. I have lots to do.” He pulled the door shut firmly on them and turned the key in the lock.

Kathryn lowered the chair leg. “What are you doing here?” she asked, looking at Mary Margaret.

“Apart from getting captured by a lunatic?” Mary Margaret stared at the door, looking for any weak points. She glanced at Kathryn. “We were looking for you.”

Kathryn started laughing, helplessly. “Well,” she said, “you found me.”

Despite the situation, Mary Margaret couldn’t help but smile wryly. “Yeah. Looks like we did.” She stepped closer to the door, crouching down to peer through the lock. “How do you feel about busting out of here?”

“That,” Kathryn said fiercely, “would be my pleasure.”


	63. Chapter 63

Rumpelstiltskin was surprised to get home and find no one was there.

Emma’s maps were still scattered across the table, so he had no doubt where she was, but Mary Margaret was seldom out late on a Saturday evening. She had her routine of going to the store, maybe stopping for coffee with David, then coming home to make dinner and watching Dancing with the Stars. 

Surprise was giving way to concern by six o’clock. He tried her cell first, then Emma’s but both of them went voicemail. 

He was about to try the station when there was a knock at the door. Phone in one hand, cane in the other, he limped towards the door, opening it to find David Nolan standing there. The man looked as surprised to see him as he felt.

“Can I help you?”

David frowned. “I was meant to be meeting Mary Margaret here,” he said. “Is she around?”

Rumpelstiltskin stared at him. “No,” he said. “No, she’s not. Did she say she would be?”

David nodded. “She told me to come by around six.”

Rumpelstiltskin looked at the phone in his hand and back at the man. “When did you last speak to her?” he asked, motioning for David to come into the house. “I can’t get a hold of her by phone, and there’s no sign of her here.”

David paled. “Not her too,” he said.

“Don’t panic,” Rumpelstiltskin said sharply. “Did she tell you her plans for today? Did she say anything about where she was going to be?”

David rubbed his forehead, walking in a tight circle in the hall. Emma shared that trait when she was anxious, Rumpelstiltskin noticed. “I spoke to her around two, I think. She said she was helping Emma out.”

It took all of Rumpelstiltskin’s restraint not to slam the phone down. “Mr Nolan,” he said as calmly and quietly as he could. “How would you like to be a hero? Because right now, I think that Mary Margaret and the Sheriff could both be in very real danger.”

“Lead the way,” David said at once. “I’ve lost one woman I care about. I sure as hell am not about to lose anymore.”

Rumpelstiltskin grabbed the keys to the car. “Have you heard of the Hatter house?”

David shook his head as he followed Rumpelstiltskin to the car. “The name rings a bell. Is it out of town?”

“Near enough,” Rumpelstiltskin said darkly. They got into the car, and Rumpelstiltskin hit the accelerator. “The Sheriff was going out that way. Supposedly, to speak to someone who found some more of Kathryn’s possessions, but it shouldn’t have taken this long.”

“You think this person could have something to do with Kathryn’s disappearance?”

Rumpelstiltskin could feel David Nolan’s eyes on him, and kept his own fixed on the road ahead of him. If Jefferson was going to break their accord and do untold damage, then he had no reason to protect him any further. “I believe so,” he said.

“You got a weapon?”

Rumpelstiltskin’s mouth curved up at one side. “Glove compartment,” he said. 

David reached in, finding the handgun that Cameron Gold had always owned, even though he never used it. 

With remarkable skill for someone who had slept through the last twenty-eight years, David ejected the magazine, checked the number of rounds, slammed the magazine home and brought the gun up in one hand, balancing it with the other.

“Does it pull in either direction?” he asked.

“A little up and to the left,” Rumpelstiltskin said as they roared out of the centre of town. “If it becomes necessary, aim for the heart and you’ll get a shoulder wound.” He slanted a look at David. “We wouldn’t want any fatalities.”

David lowered the gun and locked the safety in place. There was a fierce gleam in his eye that he had worn before, when he had borne true love to its hiding place. “No,” he agreed. “We wouldn’t want that.”

It was raining, and it got heavier as they headed onto the road that led out of Storybrooke. All that they needed, Rumpelstiltskin thought cynically, was a storm to add drama to the rescue of not one but three damsels in distress.

The car that swerved out of the road that led to the Hatter house caught him by surprise, and he spun the wheel frantically, trying to avoid a collision. The other driver braked sharply too, and they both rolled down their windows to yell at one another.

Rumpelstiltskin’s curses dried up on his lips. “Mary Margaret?”

His wife stared at him from the other car. There was a bloody gash on her brow, and her lip was split, but she was alive and free. “Cam?”

He was out of the car and halfway to her before he even noticed the other passengers in the car. “What the hell is going on?”

Mary Margaret looked over her shoulder into the back seat, where Emma was sitting. She was as bruised up as Mary Margaret, but was keeping a fierce grip on Jefferson, who was not only hand-cuffed, but tied securely with strips of cord. “We caught the guy who kidnapped Kathryn.”

“You… how do you know he took her?”

“Because I told them.”

Rumpelstiltskin bent to stare through the window. Kathryn Nolan gave him a cheerful wave from the passenger seat. “Mrs Nolan?”

“Kathryn?” David was right behind him. “Mary Margaret? You’re both okay?”

“Well, I’m not locked up,” Kathryn replied, “So I’m good.”

Emma rolled down her own window. “And if you don’t mind, guys,” she said, “we kind of have a dangerous prisoner back here. We want to get him back to the station, then I think we’re going for nachos.”

“Or Italian,” Mary Margaret said. “David, can we take a rain-check?”

“Uh.” He stared at her. “Sure. I guess. You’ve… you’ve had a busy day.”

Mary Margaret beamed at him. “We’ll talk later,” she promised. “Cam, I’ll see you at home.”

“Yes, dearie,” Rumpelstiltskin said, looking warily at Jefferson. All the man had to do was tell the Sheriff that he had only taken Kathryn at Rumpelstiltskin’s behest, and a world of trouble would come his way. “You’re sure he’s secure?”

“Once he’s in the cell, he will be,” Emma said, throwing a salute at him. “See you later, Gold.”

The car pulled away, leaving Rumpelstiltskin and David standing side-by-side in the rain.

“What just happened?” David asked, staring after the taillights. 

Rumpelstiltskin was torn between delight that Snow White and Abigail were both coming to the fore and wariness that Jefferson might turn on him again. “It seems our damsels in distress rescued themselves,” he said.

“Huh.” David looked at him. “So, since we’re obsolete, how about a drink?”

Rumpelstiltskin’s lips twitched. “That sounds like a good idea, dearie,” he said.


	64. Chapter 64

“You sure you don’t have to do paperwork?”

Emma knocked back a shot of Cam’s best scotch. “Nah,” she said, waving vaguely around the coffee table. “Case is cracked. Kathryn is rescued. Job done. I think paperwork can wait for til tomorrow.”

“I’ll vote for that,” Kathryn declared. 

She was sitting on the floor as well, in some of Mary Margaret’s own clothes. Her hair was damp and curling around her shoulders. While she had intended to go home, one look at the mess of fingerprint dust and police tape suggested elsewhere would be better for the night, and Mary Margaret had immediately offered another of the guest bedrooms. 

Kathryn knelt up, looking around at the mess of boxes all over the table. “Where’s the lo mein?”

Mary Margaret poked through them, frowning at the contents of each until she found what she was looking for. “Ah!” She handed it over. “You sure you don’t want something else?”

“God, no!” Kathryn said, sticking her chopsticks into the box. “I’ve been living on the most boring meals imaginable.” She added some soy sauce. “Give me carbs and salt and fat and I will be a happy, happy woman.”

“Here’s to freedom!” Mary Margaret said, raising her glass.

“And to no paperwork,” Emma agreed, topping up her own.

“And to noodles!” Kathryn declared, sprawling back against one of the arm chairs. “That was the worst part, you know. He never did anything to me or said all that much, but God, it was boring when we had to ‘take tea’. I hate tea.”

“I’d have thought being chained to the wall was pretty bad,” Emma said.

Kathryn extended her foot and examined her ankle. Mary Margaret had helped pick the lock on the shackle that had kept Kathryn linked to the wall by a ten foot chain. It was just lucky she had a hairpin in her coat pocket. 

“That wasn’t great,” Kathryn agreed. “But it wasn’t too tight, and I could move around the room. I think he just got mad because I managed to get out of the window of the first room he put me in.”

“At least he didn’t hurt you,” Emma said, snagging a spring roll. 

Kathryn smiled crookedly. “I think he enjoyed the company, such as it was,” she said. “Tea time is when normal people sit and talk. That’s what he said every time. The poor guy told me all about his daughter. He says she lives in town.”

“Grace,” Emma said, wrinkling her nose. “Yeah. He mentioned. Before the whole hat-making thing.”

“He really thought you could make a magic doorway to another world?” Kathryn shook her head. “Have you ever heard anything so ridiculous?”

“Oh, let me tell you about ridiculous,” Emma said, setting her glass down and leaning closer on the edge of the table. “Henry, the Mayor’s kid, my son, he’s convinced we’re all fairytale characters, and that the whole town is cursed by an Evil Queen.”

“Fairytale characters?” Kathryn echoed. “Really? He wasn’t joking?”

Mary Margaret raised her glass. “Snow White!” she said. “Present and correct!”

“What about you?”

Emma pulled a face. “Long story short,” she said with a nod to Mary Margaret. “She’s my mom.”

Kathryn studied them both intently. “You do kind of look alike.”

Mary Margaret glanced at Emma, remembering how terrified she had been that Emma would be hurt. When they had snuck through the house, when they had found that madman forcing Emma to do some weird craft project, when he held the scissors close to her face and pushed the gun against her head, Mary Margaret had never felt so protective of anyone or so angry in her life.

She guessed that was why it was easier to fly at the man and tackle him. He never saw it coming and she had managed to not only knock him flying, but destroyed his creepy hat display, smash up the shelves and landed on top of him, kneeing him hard in the balls. He’d fought, of course, but it was three against one and eventually, he’d given in. Emma punching him in the head four times had done it.

“You know, I think I’m bored of this game,” Emma declared. “We need more wine.”

Kathryn slurped up some more noodles as Emma stumbled off in the direction of the kitchen to fetch another bottle. “She doesn’t like fairytales?” she asked. 

“Not a big fan,” Mary Margaret said, then twisted on the spot when the front door opened. It was Cameron and she beamed at him. “Hey! It’s my husband!”

Cameron stopped on the threshold of the living room. “Have I walked in on a slumber party?” he asked. She could see his lips twitching, like he was trying not to smile. 

Mary Margaret struggled to her feet and bounded over to fling her arms around his middle, giving him a squeeze. “I was strong today,” she declared. “I helped Kathryn bust out of her prison. With a hairpin. It was like a movie.”

“Did you indeed?”

“And I tackled like that guy like a quarterback!” she crowed proudly. It felt good knowing she had helped to save Emma. “Ran right into him and knocked him over!” She leaned up on her toes to confide to him. “And I kneed him right where it hurts.”

Cameron winced. “I’m sure he earned it.”

Mary Margaret nodded sternly. “He had a gun. He was going to shoot us.”

“I don’t think he was,” Kathryn volunteered. “He just liked to scare people. I don’t think he would have shot any of us.” She waved her chopsticks. “Hey, Gold.”

“Mrs Nolan,” he said with a nod. “You’re well?”

“I have noodles and wine and no shackles,” she replied, smiling. “I’m good.”

His expression turned soft. “I’m glad,” he said. “I hoped you had not been harmed.” 

Mary Margaret tugged his arm. “We’re celebrating,” she said. “With food and wine. Want to join us?”

“Intrude on warriors celebrating their victory?” he said, widening his eyes. “Would my virtue be safe?”

Mary Margaret couldn’t help bursting into giggles, and Kathryn didn’t help by tilting her head sideways and scrutinising him. “Kathryn!”

“What? It’s been a few weeks,” Kathryn replied, giggling, her cheeks flushing.

Cameron looked between them. “I think,” he said, “I may go for a walk. I would feel safer in the darkest night of Storybrooke than in my own home tonight.” He gently nudged Mary Margaret back towards the living room. “You girls enjoy your evening.”

“Hey,” Emma wandered through from the kitchen, carrying a bottle. “Old is good, right?”

“I don’t know,” Mary Margaret said, still laughing helplessly. “Ask Cam.”

Her husband looked offended. “Excuse me?”

“Hey, you’re the one who always says you’re an old man,” she said, hugging him around the middle. “Are you sure you don’t want to stay?”

He looked at her with amused fondness. “I think it’ll be safer for my sanity and dignity if I flee while I can.” He dropped a kiss on her forehead. “Don’t go and beat up any more strange men, dearie.”

She schooled her expression into seriousness. “I’ll do my best,” she promised.

The second the door closed on him, all three of them started laughing.


	65. Chapter 65

With the Sheriff, the kidnap victim, and his wife all busy getting merrily drunk, Rumpelstiltskin took the opportunity to slip into the Sheriff’s station to visit their captive. David had been returned to his own marital home, also slightly the worse for drink. It seemed Rumpelstiltskin was the only one fated to be sober, and he intended to use it. 

He wasn’t surprised to find Jefferson pacing around within the confines of the cell. The man didn’t immediately notice that he was not alone. Out of his repetitive prison, he seemed ill at ease, his hands fisting into his hair, twisting, as he paced this way and that. 

The cells were dark. Emma hadn’t even bothered to leave a light on, and once more, the street lamp cut a golden slash of light across the square-patterned floor. It was a strangely pleasant inversion of their last encounter in this very place.

Rumpelstiltskin walked two steps into the Sheriff’s office and let the base of his cane tap on the floor between his shoes. 

Jefferson whirled around like a snared animal, teeth bared, eyes wild. He caught the bars, pulling himself up against them. “Get me out of here!”

Rumpelstiltskin walked closer, until he was just out of range of the Hatter’s arm. “Why?” he asked mildly. “Unless I’m very mistaken, I made it very clear how our arrangement was going to go. You would wait for my sign. You would not lure the Sheriff into a trap, drug her, and force her to do the impossible or abduct my wife as a hostage.”

Jefferson threw back his head, laughing wildly. “She’s your wife now, is she?” he demanded mockingly. “You’ve laid claim to pretty little Snow White?”

“For now,” Rumpelstiltskin said quietly. 

Jefferson pressed his face between the bars. “She’s going to be so pleased to know what you did, isn’t she?”

“Try telling them,” Rumpelstiltskin retorted. “You’re the one who drugged them, waved a gun in their faces, and talked nonsense about magic.” He smiled coldly. “I think you’ll find I’m considered a much more trustworthy character than you.”

Jefferson made a low whining in his throat. “You got what you wanted,” he moaned. “You had your girl back, but not me. Never me.” He tugged at the bars. “She’s there. I watched her, and she doesn’t even know.” He pressed his brow so hard to the bars that the skin went white. “I want my Grace back. I want her back.”

“You broke our agreement,” Rumpelstiltskin said quietly. “Why should I do anything to help you?”

Jefferson was rocking from head to toe. “I can’t stay here,” he said, his voice breaking. “I can’t stay where I can’t see her.” His eyes fixed on Rumpelstiltskin. “I can tell them where to find your note. The one you sent from the boy. You have to let me out or they’ll know.”

“Blackmail?” Rumpelstiltskin smiled slightly. “In a deal that does nothing for me at all? You have no hold on me, dearie. The note says nothing conclusive and names no names. Do you think I would have been that foolish when it comes to you?”

Jefferson howled, slamming his hands against the bars. “Let me out, you bastard! I have to see her! I have to! You’ve kept me away from her for this long!”

“You know nothing of waiting,” Rumpelstiltskin snarled contemptuously. He stepped closer to the bars, his hand moving lightning fast to catch Jefferson by the throat. “So you’ve waited twenty-eight years? I’ve waited centuries, you stupid child.”

Jefferson stared at him. “What?”

Rumpelstiltskin tilted his head, his eyes boring into Jefferson’s. “I’ll get you out of here,” he said in a low voice. “But when I do, I do not want to see you anywhere near town again at all. I want you to go back to your prison and you will wait until I’m finished here.”

“Grace…”

Rumpelstiltskin squeezed the man’s throat until he gagged. “Listen to me, boy,” he hissed through his teeth. “You have done untold damage with your little games today. Plans were unfolding and now, you have torn them apart. You will not interfere with Emma Swan again. Am I making myself clear?”

“Yes,” Jefferson croaked.

Rumpelstiltskin released him and stepped back, lip curling in distaste. 

Jefferson crumpled down to sit on the bunk, gasping for breath. 

“You will wait until I’m gone to escape,” Rumpelstiltskin said. He slipped a gloved hand into his pocket, withdrawing one of Regina’s skeleton keys that he had acquired when Henry had stolen the ring. “You will leave this in the lock. And you will be gone before sun-up. Leave Miss Swan to me.”

“It won’t work,” Jefferson rasped out, shooting a hateful look at Rumpelstiltskin. “Your plans for her. She doesn’t believe in anything. Especially not magic. No curse can be broken if they don’t believe.”

“Your knowledge of magic is so paltry,” Rumpelstiltskin said quietly. “You don’t have to believe in magic to use it.”

“You have to have it first,” Jefferson whispered, sagging against the bars. “Your curse won’t be broken. Not by her.”

Rumpelstiltskin smiled. “She has it. She just doesn’t know it yet.”

Jefferson started to laugh, broken and quivering and hoarse. “You’re pinning your dreams on a star that isn’t anything but a black hole,” he whispered. “She won’t do it. She can’t. She isn’t one of us. She’ll never be.”

“You put your faith in the wrong people,” Rumpelstiltskin murmured, turning away. “She’ll break the curse, I have no doubt of that.”

After all, he had built it to be so.


	66. Chapter 66

Mary Margaret was woken by a sharp rapping at the front door.

She stirred groggily, forcing her eyes open. Her head was throbbing, and when she sat up, she became rapidly aware that she was definitely not in her bed. Or in any bed for that matter. Or even a bedroom. 

Her back screamed in protest when she stretched.

So, sleeping curled up in an armchair. Not a good idea.

Her face was aching as well, no doubt from that awkward moment when she, Kathryn and Emma had been trying to pin down a man much broader and stronger than any of them individually. She’d taken an elbow to the mouth and knocked her brow on the edge of a shelf, while Emma had wrapped her legs around the man’s torso and other arm and punched him like her life depended on it. Which it technically had.

It was a good kind of pain to be in.

She squinted around, setting her feet on the floor carefully. Her toes knocked against an empty wine bottle and she stumbled, knocking over a glass, then stepped carefully over Kathryn’s outstretched arm. The other woman was sprawled peacefully on the rug, half-draped in a blanket, a cushion under her head. Emma was still dozing on the couch, but she cracked one eye open. Mary Margaret waved her to go back to sleep.

The door-knocker rapped again and Mary Margaret muttered a rude word under her breath as she made her way into the brightly lit hall. The sun was pouring through the windows in the front door, turning the floor into a rainbow. 

It was a Sunday morning. No sensible person would ever go knocking at anyone’s door as early as…

Mary Margaret spotted the clock in the hall. Oh. Ten-thirty. 

She fumbled with the lock, opening the door, then frowned. “Madam Mayor?”

Regina’s lips pursed. “Mrs Gold,” she said. “I heard a rumour that Kathryn had been found. I wanted to know if it was true.”

Mary Margaret rubbed at her eyes with finger and thumb, then nodded gingerly. “Yeah. She’s safe. She’s insi…”

Regina put her hand against the door and pushed her way in. Mary Margaret knew if she had less of a hangover, she would have grabbed her, thrown her out the front door and kicked her ass to touch. “Where is she?” she demanded. “I want to see her.”

“She’s sleeping,” Mary Margaret said with a grimace. “It can wait.” She caught up with Regina, grasping at her arm. “Leave her be for now.”

Regina’s eyes flicked down to Mary Margaret’s arm, then back to her face. “You think you have any say in what I do or don’t do, Mrs Gold?” she asked coldly. “Get your hand off me.”

Mary Margaret tightened her grip instead, stepping closer, right into the Mayor’s personal space. “I don’t think so,” she said, her voice low. It hurt her head less when she spoke quietly. “You walked into my house. You do what I say now, and I say you get the hell out.”

Regina stared at her. “What gives you the right to…”

“Ah,” Mary Margaret said. “No more talking, Madam Mayor. You’re not welcome in my home. You can just turn around and walk right out the door. If Kathryn wants to see you, she’ll find you when she’s awake.”

“Problem?”

Both Mary Margaret and Regina turned to find Emma standing in the archway that led to the living room. For someone who was only wearing a t-shirt and her underwear, bare arms crossed over her chest, Emma projected a lot of menace.

“I want to see my friend,” Regina said, shaking Mary Margaret’s hand off her arm.

“Like the lady said,” Emma murmured, “she’s sleeping. She’s had a rough time, and I’m not gonna wake her, just because you said so. She’s back, she’s okay, and she’ll come and visit when she’s up.”

Regina looked both furious and shaken that two people were refusing her, but she rallied and smiled coolly. “And you have the one who did it in custody?” she asked.

“Yup,” Emma said, leaning again the wall. “We took him down, arrested him, and brought him into town last night. He’s locked up down at the station. I’m going to interview him this afternoon.”

Regina’s eyes gleamed. “I’ll be very interested to hear what he has to say,” she said. She folded her hands in front of her. “I would like to be there when you interrogate him.”

“I don’t know what you’re expecting,” Emma said with a shrug, “but sure. Maybe then you’ll stop blaming Mary Margaret and Gold for everything that goes wrong around here.”

“Or maybe you’ll see your hosts aren’t the perfect people you believe them to be,” Regina countered darkly.

“Okay, that’s it,” Mary Margaret snapped. “You get out of my house right now.” She walked over and pulled the door open with a violence that surprised her. “I’m not standing here and having you insult me and my husband for no reason at all.”

“I’d listen to her,” Emma said lazily, straightening up from the wall. “She tackled a gun-wielding maniac with her bare hands last night. I think her blood might still be up.” She smirked. “You don’t wanna piss her off any more, do you?”

Regina looked coldly at Mary Margaret. 

Once upon a time, that kind of look would have her quailing, lowering her eyes and avoiding any conflict, but not now. 

Now, Mary Margaret lifted her chin, set her teeth, and narrowed her eyes. 

“Leave,” she said. “Now. I’ll let Kathryn know you came by, but you’re not welcome in my home.”

Regina scowled at her, but complied and stalked out of the open door.

Emma grinned when Mary Margaret shut the door. “Look at you, all taking charge!”

Mary Margaret blushed. “She deserved it,” she said.

“Damn right she did,” Emma said, smiling. “You up for breakfast?”

“Aspirin first,” Mary Margaret decided, “and some water, and we’ll see.”


	67. Chapter 67

Rumpelstiltskin had spent the night in a room at Granny's Inn. It was far safer than being in the vicinity of three women basking in a successful capture. Especially when there was alcohol involved. He had no need to explain himself, and Anne Lucas had not dared to ask.

He took the opportunity to have a brief meeting with Pinocchio the next morning, to keep him informed of what had come to pass. While he disliked the man immensely, there was no doubt that his information would be useful, and it was better to keep him as an ally than alienate him as another enemy. 

Unsurprisingly, the man was relieved to know that his captor and tormentor had been captured. His relief turned to dismay when Rumpelstiltskin continued the tale, explaining that the Hatter had been freed to cast suspicion back in the direction of the Queen.

"He needs to be locked up," Pinocchio said darkly. "He's dangerous."

Rumpelstiltskin smiled. "Who isn't?" he said. "He may be a liability, but he and I have made a new arrangement. He will stay away from the Sheriff and make sure that his motives remain unknown to her. We, meanwhile, will work on persuading her of the reality of Regina's power and the curse."

"You believe him?"

Rumpelstiltskin examined the handle of his cane. "It doesn't matter what I believe," he said, lifting his eyes to Pinocchio. "The boy knows that if he defies me again, not seeing his precious Grace again is the last thing he'll need to worry about."

Pinocchio averted his eyes uncomfortably. "What would you do to him?"

"Enough," Rumpelstiltskin replied. "Let's leave it at that." He let his lips curve in a brief smile. "Suffice to say, I don't like to be crossed."

"I see that," Pinocchio said with meeting his eyes. He leaned down to rub his leg, and Rumpelstiltskin couldn't help but notice that his fingers no longer seemed so flexible. The magic that had sustained him as a living puppet was fading by degrees. Pinocchio glanced up, then looked away. "How long?"

"For the curse to be broken? Or for you?" Rumpelstiltskin said dispassionately.

Pinocchio gave a brittle laugh. "Either. Both."

Rumpelstiltskin considered him. "Soon," he said, then turned and walked towards the door.

"For which?" Pinocchio called after him.

Rumpelstiltskin glanced over his shoulder. His hand was resting on the door handle. "Either," he said. "Or both." He looked down at his hand on the handle, then added, a little more quietly, "If I were you, I would find your father in the next few days. It might be the last chance you have."

It was unnecessary kindness, but he knew what it was to lose a child.

The universe, it seemed, decided to reward him for the gesture.

He entered the diner for breakfast, a rare novelty. The quiet murmur of chatter faded into silence at the sight of him. That was not unusual in the least. What was unusual was the way a dozen eyes turned from him to another customer, who was sitting at the furthest booth, tucked into the corner, as if trying to avoid anyone's attention.

Rumpelstiltskin looked over and his heart flipped.

Isabelle French was staring fiercely down at a book. She was red-cheeked, and even at a distance, he could see her hands were trembling. He had no doubt she was aware that everyone was staring at her. It spoke of a bravery he lacked that she still walked in, sat down, and was determined to act as if she had been living a perfectly normal life.

The fact that they stared at her like she was some kind of oddity infuriated him beyond the telling.

He stalked towards the counter, placing an order curtly, then - forcing his voice to steadiness - said, "I will be sitting with Miss French."

Anne Lucas's mouth opened and shut several times before she managed to say, "Right you are. I'll bring it over to you."

He narrowed his eyes. "And be sure to keep your eyes on your work, dear," he murmured, low and threatening. "The young lady does not need to be made a spectacle of." 

Without awaiting a response, he turned and made his way to Isabelle's table. He couldn't help notice the way her knuckles whitened as he approached, and he paused by the table, clearing his throat. 

"Miss French?"

She looked up nervously, then when she recognised him, her face broke into a fragile smile that made his breath catch. "Oh! Mr Gold!" She looked around on the table top, then tear a strip off a napkin to mark her place in her book, closing it over. "I didn't know you came in here."

"I don't often," he admitted. He indicated to the empty seat opposite her. "May I?"

She nodded with an eagerness that was heart-breaking. "I'd like that." Her eyes darted down to the table, which was scattered with napkins, cutlery, books. "Um. Sorry." She gathered up the spread to one side of the table. "I didn't expect anyone would want to sit with me."

Rumpelstiltskin sat down carefully, smoothing the lines of his suit so it wouldn't crease, and propped his cane against the seat. "More fool them, then," he said. He folded his hands, one on top of the other, on the table top and gazed at her. "It was very brave of you to come in here, dearie."

She shook her head. "It's only a diner," she said, without meeting his eyes. "Everyone can go into a diner. Why shouldn't I?"

"All the same," he murmured.

She looked up at him across the table. "They're only looking at me," she said quietly. "It's not so bad."

"They shouldn't look," he said with quiet ferocity. "You're not some creature on display in a zoo." He leaned a little closer. "If you like, I could glare at them. People tend to be afraid when I do that." His lips twitched. "I've been told I can be quite intimidating."

Isabelle smiled quietly, a small, subdued curl of her lips. "That's very kind of you," she said, drawing her mug towards her, "but it's all right. If I walk and talk and act like a normal person when people watch, maybe they'll start believing it and stop looking."

"And that's when you reveal the eccentric adventurer that you are?" he suggested with a twitch of his lips. 

She looked at him over the rim of her mug, a glimmer of mischief sparking in her eyes. "Perhaps."

He leaned back, considering her. "When that day comes, dearie," he said, "I have a pith helmet and a big game rifle in my shop. All you need to do is ask."

Whether it was good or bad timing, they would later contest, but she inhaled her tea and started coughing around giggles. She was still coughing damply when Granny Lucas brought Rumpelstiltskin's breakfast over. She took one look at the girl, then turned a glare on him. 

"What did you do to the poor child?"

Rumpelstiltskin smiled thinly at her. "Well, I certainly didn't lock her in a basement," he said, waving one hand. "Run along, dear. You have customers."

"I'm all right," Isabelle added, wiping her eyes. She was smiling truly, her eyes dancing. "Drink went down the wrong way."

Anne Lucas narrowed her eyes at him suspiciously, but bustled off.

Rumpelstiltskin allowed himself a small smile. "I consider that a small victory," he said.

"Making her blame you?" she asked, taking a more careful sip.

He shook his head, gazing at her. "Seeing that smile."

Isabelle's blush rose like a sunrise.


	68. Chapter 68

"You don't need to come."

Mary Margaret gave Emma an even look. "I want to be there," she said. "You'll have Regina breathing down your neck, trying to twist whatever he says to suit her. I want to be the moral support."

Emma's lips twitched. "You're missing your cheerleading outfit," she said dryly.

"Short skirts don't really suit me," Mary Margaret demurred, as Emma turned into the parking slot. "And I have no idea how to spell Emma with my arms."

Emma laughed, but it turned into a groan. "I knew it."

"What?" Mary Margaret leaned forward to peer out through the windshield. The Mayor's black Mercedes was already parked in the space next to the Sheriff's, and Regina was just climbing out of the car. Her expression was one of triumph, as if she knew that whatever the man said would be enough to get her what she wanted. 

"Madam Mayor," Emma said, as she unfolded out of the car. "Punctual."

"Some of us have to be," Regina said with a red-lipped smile. Her eyes flicked briefly to Mary Margaret. "Come to cover your husband's tracks, have you?"

Mary Margaret smiled at her as sweetly as she could. "You know what I love about spring in Storybrooke, Emma?" she said, never taking her eyes off Regina. "The smell of fresh leaves, the sun being just that little bit warmer, and the whisper of slander blowing through the trees."

Regina's lips pressed together, narrowing. "Sheriff," she said, turning her attention to Emma. "Lead the way. I want to hear what this man has to say now."

Emma, looking far too amused by the exchange, touched her fingertips to her brow in a mock salute. She led the way up the stairs and into the station, Regina close on her heels. Mary Margaret followed, which meant that went Emma stopped dead, there was a pile-up in the door way.

"Watch where you're walking, Mrs Gold," Regina snarled.

"Shut up, both of you," Emma snapped. "Stay here. Don't move."

She stalked into the station, towards the cells, and Mary Margaret stepped alongside Regina to look in. It felt like her stomach plummeted when she saw the door of the cell was wide open and the man they had fought so hard to subdue was gone.

"Convenient," Regina sneered. "Let me guess. The only suspect in Kathryn's incarceration was here, but oh! He's gone now. I wonder who could have arranged that."

Emma was crouching down by the cell door. She fetched one of the rubber gloves from the box on top of one of the cabinets, returned to the lock, and withdrew something from the keyhole. "I wonder," she said, looking down at the object. She walked across the floor towards them, and looked at Regina, bald contempt written all over her face. "Tell me, Madam Mayor, do you recognise this?"

She opened her gloved hand, revealing one of the black skeleton keys.

Mary Margaret looked at Regina in horror. "You! You released him!"

Regina's face blanched. "I did no such thing!" she exclaimed. "I have no idea where that came from!"

"Bullshit!" Emma snarled. "Henry told me all about your key collection, all about how it can open any door. Looks like it did it's job here, doesn't it?"

"It wasn't me!" Regina said furiously. "It was clearly planted!"

"By who?" Mary Margaret said coldly. "My husband? Or maybe me? Because we're obviously responsible for everything that goes on around here."

Regina whirled on her. "You know, I think that's exactly who did this," she said. "Do you think I'm stupid enough to leave evidence that would incriminate me just lying around?"

It was like the whole world paused to take a breath.

What was said didn't matter. What was unsaid was more important. In all the cases that had sprung up recently, there had been no evidence found anywhere, nothing to implicate anyone but Cameron, even when the victim stalwartly said he had nothing to do it. 

She wouldn't leave evidence just lying around.

Emma's expression was black as thunder. "Tell me, then, Madam Mayor, is this your key?"

Regina glared at her. "Of course not."

If anything, Emma's expression darkened even more. "Don't lie to me," she growled. "Is this your key?"

"I just told you no!" Regina replied, then swore in outrage when Emma caught her by the wrist. "What the hell are you doing?"

"I'm sick of your crap," Emma snapped. "This key belongs to you. You're lying to me. You are giving me your fingerprints right now, or I'm locking you up for obstruction, and believe me when I say I have no problem with holding you for twenty-four hours without charge."

"You can't do this!" Regina said.

"I got a badge that says I can," Emma retorted. "Unless you think you're above the law?"

Mary Margaret was surprised by the alarm on Regina's face. That was probably the same expression Cameron wore when a woman was found in his basement. It looked genuine, and Mary Margaret couldn't help wonder if Regina really didn't know how the key got there. 

That was crazy.

The keys were Regina's, and the only person who knew about them was Henry. Henry wouldn't have released someone from the jail, not even for Operation Cobra. 

Who else would have wanted the madman freed if not the woman who had him kidnap Kathryn? After all, Regina was waiting outside when they arrived. Who was to say she hadn't released him only minutes before they got there? Just because she was a good actor didn't mean she was innocent.

If Cameron was right, she was anything but.

Mary Margaret folded her arms and watched as Emma fingerprinted the Mayor.

Six months ago, no one would have imagined anyone having the nerve to do such a thing.

Right now, anyone who saw the look on Emma's face wouldn't question it.


	69. Chapter 69

Rumpelstiltskin wasn't quite sure what he was doing.

It was a novel experience.

For years, centuries, everything had been part of a structured plan. Everything had been part of finding a way to this world. None of it, for so many years, had included any concept of a woman or love or human companionship. Then there had been a brief bright moment which was just as quickly snuffed out.

Now, that brief flicker of light had returned.

Despite his bad leg, despite all the staring eyes that would no doubt watch them - him with fear, her with morbid curiosity - he offered to walk with her, to show her around the town. She had been enclosed for far longer than was right, and he could guess her ventures out had been limited by anxiety when faced with a world so large after so many years of confinement.

With his arm as an anchor, she walked bravely.

She had no need to know how utterly terrified he was.

The pressure of her small hand in the crook of his arm was a steady reminder that she was there and real. She was one of the few people who had touched him in the fairytale lands, and the warmth of her body so close to his was making him light-headed. His suit, thankfully, was a safe barrier. Were she to touch his hand with hers, he knew he would be lost.

They stopped across the road from his shop. He knew she couldn't face entering it, but she wanted to see the place that had hidden her from sight for so long. Her hand was trembling against his arm, but she stared at it, keeping her breathing steady.

"Hardly anything, is it?" she said, her voice fragile. 

"I'll try not to take that as a personal slight," he offered in as teasing a way as possible.

She looked at him, her lips shivering in a smile. "You don't look as shabby."

"Shabby?" he said indignantly, looking at the shop. Now that she said it, he could see the paint peeling a little here and there, and the dust filming the windows. "In my defence, I was incarcerated. I didn't have time to spruce it up."

"That's your excuse?" The glint was back in her blue eyes. "You were locked up for a few days?"

He wrinkled his nose at her. "You know, dearie, your extensive experience of captivity is hardly something to use to win an argument."

"I don't see why not," she retorted, a slight crack in her voice belying her smile. "It's the one thing I have that no one else can use." She glanced at the shop again and took another quick, quivering breath. "Maybe we can go somewhere else?"

He nodded in agreement. "OF course," he murmured, looking at her with concern. "You're all right?"

"Getting there," she said.

He couldn't help notice - and revel in - the fact she leaned closer to him as they walked away.

If they were being stared at, he didn't notice. All of his attention was on the young woman on his arm. She should have been there all the time, and if he had his way and her consent, she would be for as long as they both lived. 

In part, he longed for the curse to break, but in part he was also dreading it, in case she turned from him again. He wanted to be worthy of her forgiveness, but he knew he wasn't the one to say if he was. She was the one who would make the decision when the time came, and he would let her.

No one ever decided her fate but her.

It was amazing the difference her presence made.

Storybrooke was no longer so insufferably mundane.

As they walked, he pointed out shops, businesses, people. She asked about everything, drinking in all that he would tell her, and he found he had no desire to keep anything from her. When she asked, he answered honestly, and all the while, he wondered how long it would be until she tired of him and wanted to go home. 

They finally came to a halt at the ice cream parlour.

"Can I treat you to an ice cream?" she asked, looking at him shyly. "We could sit for a little while."

It was touching that she had noticed that his leg was beginning to slow him.

"I don't see why not," he agreed with a brief smile. He reluctantly loosed himself from her arm to open the door. "Ladies first."

She blushed, and the fresh colour in her face made her look so very like she had the day he had given her the rose, the day he had let her go, the day everything had fallen to pieces.

She laid claim to a table, pulling a chair out for him, and laid a hand on his shoulder when he sat down. "What kind would you like?" she asked, as if he could even think to answer with her small hand squeezing gently at his shoulder.

Words echoed back on him through the years.

You owe me a story.

His breath caught and he made himself look up at her. "Surprise me, dearie."

She beamed at him and darted over to the counter. He couldn't keep his eyes from her, even though he tried. She suited the clothing of this world: jeans and a pretty floral blouse under her coat. Her hair was pinned at her nape, but fell loose in tumbling curls down her back. 

Isabelle glanced over her shoulder at him, and he saw the warm pink rise in her cheeks again as she met his eye.

It seemed that he was one of the people she didn't mind looking at her.

That was... encouraging. 

He looked down at the table, lacing fingers together on the tabletop. Best not to stare. Plenty of people would make assumptions, given that he had previously been accused of abducting her, and they already had such stupid ideas about her that he couldn't give them more ammunition. 

She returned a few moments later, slipping into the seat opposite him, and set down two bowls. His contained scoops of chocolate and caramel-swirled ice cream with liberal portions of cream and dark chocolate and golden sprinkles. Her own was a strawberry sundae.

"Dare I ask?" he inquired, looking down at his bowl.

She picked up her spoon and smiled tentatively. "It sounded like you: dark and rich but sweet at the same time."

He raised an eyebrow, pleased at the description. "Sweet? I'm hardly sweet."

"Pretty much everyone in town saw you take the mad girl from the basement for a walk when she was scared, for nothing in return," she said. "That's sweet."

"I don't know," he said, picking up his own spoon. "I got to spend time with a bright and beautiful young woman, who bought me ice cream." He met her eyes with the smallest of smiles. "I would consider that ample recompense."

Isabelle ducked over her ice cream. "You needn't be so kind to me," she mumbled.

"Why not?" Rumpelstiltskin said. "So few people deserve kindness. You do."

Her eyes rose to meet his. "Why?" she asked in a small voice.

"Why?" He stared at her. "After all you have been through, you ask why?"

She shrugged, stirring strawberries through her ice cream. 

She was retreating into melancholy, so he reached over and caught her free hand. It was stupid and foolish, and the contact made him tremble as much as it drew a gasp from her lips. 

"Never imagine that you're only the girl from the basement," he said, his voice low and intent. "You're so much more than that. Never let anyone make you believe you're less than you are." He clasped her hand, squeezed her trembling fingers. "You're the bravest person I've met, Isabelle, standing against their stares and whispers and questions simply to be yourself. You deserve every kindness in the world. That," he said with finality, "is why."

Her eyes were so bright, as if she might cry, but she smiled. "Thank you," she said softly.

He let his hand linger, just a moment, then withdrew it. "Well," he said self-consciously, "you did buy me ice cream." He offered her a quick, cautious smile. "Consider us even."

Her smile strengthened. "So bribery worked," she said with a glimmer of mischief in her eyes. "Got it."


	70. Chapter 70

Mary Margaret wasn't sure what was annoying Emma more: the fact that the prisoner had escaped or the fact that Regina's prints weren't anywhere to be found on the key.

She had still wanted to lock Regina up, because the key was at least a fragment of evidence, even if it was only linked to her by the tenuous bonds of ownership. Regina denied ever using the key in the jail or giving it to anyone in the jail, and Emma - as infuriated as she was - seemed to believe her. The Mayor had walked free, though she seemed shaken by the threat of arrest.

Anyone the Sheriff could spare had been sent on a search for the missing man, and she had been the one to break the news to Kathryn, who took it with surprising calmness. The fact that she was armed with a shotgun, and was in the process of getting new locks fitted on all her doors, probably helped. David was staying with her on Emma's request, just in case the man came after her again. 

The Hatter house was the first place that was checked, and the more that was uncovered about the man, the more Mary Margaret was relieved that they all got out alive. It looked like he spent his time watching the town, with telescopes trained on dozens of buildings, most alarmingly the school and the house of the girl he claimed was his long lost daughter.

A security detail was set up at the girl's house, with a rotation of guards to ensure nothing happened to her.

Emma relayed all the latest developments to Mary Margaret when she stomped into the house, exhausted and pale-faced, at seven in the evening. Organising a massive manhunt for a missing lunatic wasn't the way to spend a day when you had a hangover. 

"This town," Emma said in a low voice, "is nuts."

"It wasn't always this bad," Mary Margaret said, setting a plate in front of her, then returning to the stove to serve up Cameron's plate. He wasn't back yet, but he was due at any moment. "It's been quiet for the last few years until..." She paused, then looked at Emma. "Well, until you arrived, really."

Emma cast a baleful, weary look at her. "Don't tell me you've started believing that I'm the trigger," she said.

"I'm just saying," Mary Margaret said calmly, "that you've ruffled some feathers. You're doing more around here than anyone else would have the nerve to, and maybe that's why everything starting to come to the surface. People have been complacent for too long." 

Emma rubbed her eyes, dragging herself upright in her seat. "No one has been saying anything for too long," she said, barely lifting her head when the front door opened.

"That'll be Cam," Mary Margaret murmured. She set his plate on the table, then returned to fill her own. She was feeling drained, but she knew it was nothing compared to Emma. It was one thing to be witnessing the mess of cases from the outside, but to have to wrangle them all was clearly taking it's toll.

The kitchen door opened a moment later.

"Hey Gold," Emma murmured into her food without turning.

"Evening, Cam," Mary Margaret added turning to offer him a quick smile. She paused, staring at him. "Are you okay?"

He looked startled, as if she'd roused him from a daydream. "Pardon?"

"You okay?" she said. "You were away in a world of your own?"

A quick, almost nervous smile flicked across his lips. "Fine, dearie," he assured her, taking his seat at the table and shedding his jacket. "Busy day."

"Ha!" Emma said gloomily. "You wanna talk busy, try leading a city-wide manhunt."

Cameron paused, unfolding his napkin. "Manhunt? Is someone else missing now?"

"The man who took Kathryn escaped," Emma said bluntly.

Mary Margaret wasn't sure why, but she kept her eyes on Cameron's face. His expression betrayed only mild surprise, which seemed an underreaction given the circumstances, and he set his napkin across his lap. 

"Escaped?" he said. "How?"

"We're working on that," Emma said. "Regina's been implicated."

There was something sly in the way his lips turned. "Does she deny it?"

"And then some," Emma said. "She says someone is framing her."

"The Mayor framed? It does seem to be becoming a town epidemic, doesn't it?"

Emma's expression was stony as Mary Margaret sat down. "That woman has something wrong with her," she said. "Even if she wasn't involved in this escape, she's been bullying and manipulating the town for too long. I don't trust her as far as I could throw her, especially not when it comes to Henry."

Mary Margaret glanced at Cameron, then back at her. "Emma, she adopted him legally. You technically don't have a say in how she raises him."

"No," Emma said skewering a piece of chicken, "not yet. Not legally. But he's my kid, and I know he's in danger, living with that sociopath." She looked fiercely at Mary Margaret. "I'm taking back my son."

"Be cautious, Miss Swan," Cameron said, turning his gaze on her. "She has powerful friends. You'll be starting a battle you may not win."

Emma set her fork down with a clatter. "Screw that," she snapped. "Do you think I care? If this is how she runs the town, what the hell is she doing to my son?" She shoved her chair back with a violence that left it teetering on two legs. "I'm going to take her down, and I'm going to make sure he's safe."

"Emma," Mary Margaret rose, lifting a hand placatingly. "Emma, think about it overnight maybe? Eat, get some rest, then think about it."

Emma stared blankly at her, then snatched up her plate and stalked out of the kitchen.

"Oh dear," Mary Margaret murmured. "This isn't going to end well."

Cameron was silent for a moment, then said quietly, "Perhaps it's necessary?"

She looked at him. "Like planting a key to frame the Mayor?"

He met her eyes. "What are you saying, dearie?" he asked mildly, his brows arched in an expression of surprise. 

She put down her cutlery on the edge of her plate. "Tell me honestly, Cam," she said. "Did you have anything to do with that man's escape?"

"Dearie..." he protested.

"Cam," she cut across him. "No games. What the hell is going on around here?"

He leaned back in his seat, wiped his hands on his napkin. "You want the truth?"

"Yes! For God's sake, this isn't funny anymore!"

He set the napkin down on the table. "Henry's right."

Mary Margaret stared at him, then started to laugh. "Oh, come on, Cam! The truth! Not some fairytale nonsense!"

"You wanted the truth, I'm giving you the truth," he replied, his expression deadly serious. "Emma is the only one who can bring Regina down, and if this is how she has to do it, this is how it has to go."

Mary Margaret rose on legs that were shaking. She walked over to the sink, bracing her hands against the edge of it, then turned to look at him. "Do you think I'm an idiot?" she asked in a low, flat voice. "I know you and Regina have some kind of twisted rivalry going on. Can't you at least be honest about it?"

He remained sitting where he was, looking calmly at her. "I am. Perhaps I released the Hatter, but it was a necessity. It was to keep Emma safe. As long as he was in custody, then he would be a danger."

"Oh God," Mary Margaret whispered, pressing a hand over her mouth. "Cam, what the hell are you doing? He kidnapped Kathryn! He locked me up and drugged Emma! He held us all hostage at gunpoint! He needs to be in jail!"

"Believe me, dearie," her husband said quietly, "leaving him jail would have only made matters worse."

"Worse? How can they get worse?"

He met her eyes. "Ask Graham."

She stalked towards him. "Cam, this isn't funny."

He looked placidly up at her furious face. "That's why I'm not joking."

Her hand flew before she could stop it, striking him sharply across the face. His head jerked to the side, but he turned back, still expressionless, to look at her. His cheek was reddened by the blow. 

"I want you to get out of this house," she said, her voice trembling. "How can I trust you when I know you let that man go? When I know you're playing everyone - even me - for a fool?"

Cameron rose from his seat. His hand was tight on his cane, his knuckles white. "You don't need to trust me," he said slowly. "All you need to know is that I have not lied to you." He lifted his hand, as if to touch her cheek, and she shied back, staring at him as if he were a stranger. A brief, almost sad smile twisted his lips and he drew his hand back. "Keep Emma safe. Even if you don't trust me, Regina will come after her. Keep her safe."

Mary Margaret clenched her hands into quivering fists. "Leave," she said hoarsely. "I don't want you anywhere near here."

He gazed at her a moment longer, then spread his hands and bowed. "As you wish, Snow White."

Mary Margaret turned from him, gripping the back of the nearest chair, her head swimming. She heard him walk across the floor, the step-tap of foot and cane muffled as he closed the kitchen door behind him. As soon as he was out of earshot, she released an explosive breath. 

Cameron was the man she trusted more than anyone in the world, and yet, after seeing Jefferson put a gun to Emma's head, after seeing what the madman had done to Kathryn, after what he had done to her, the fact that Cameron was helping him was horrifying.

She sank into the chair, and fought down a tight, sick feeling that was closing her up from stomach to throat. 

As if releasing a criminal wasn't bad enough, lying and hiding behind the fairytales that Henry used...

She hastily brushed hot, furious tears from her eyes.

If he was going to play her for the fool, then he could be gone and stay gone.


	71. Chapter 71

Two days had gone by.

Rumpelstiltskin found himself waiting for the Sheriff to come marching in the door, either to arrest him or to punch him right in the face for releasing a dangerous prisoner. When she did neither of those things, he realised that Mary Margaret was still protecting him, even now, even though she disapproved of his actions.

It was an element of loyalty he had certainly not expected to be there.

She trusted him. His incarceration had shown that, but then, he had been innocent. The liberation of Jefferson was something else entirely. 

He knew better than to push his luck and approach her. He was staying at Granny’s again, and once or twice, they saw one another in the street. It was enough for them to exchange looks, then she would walk by, and he knew he was still in disgrace.

He kept to himself for the most part, even though Pinocchio wanted to take advantage of his presence at the inn. He didn’t know how to tell the man - more wood than flesh now - that he had no idea if his last attempt to push Regina and Emma into open conflict was working.

Since he was no longer sharing a home with the woman who would be Saviour, he didn’t know whether she had approached Regina about Henry or not. That she wanted him safe was obvious, but then both she and Henry underestimated how desperately Regina loved the boy, even if it was in a dangerously obsessed way.

It didn’t do well to cross the Mayor, unless you had a major arsenal at your disposal.

She caught him in his shop on the morning after his third night at Granny’s. He had only just unlocked the door when she seemed to materialise out of thin air at his shoulder, and he could almost see the smoke roiling from her ears.

“Mr Gold. A word.”

His lips twitched. “Of course, your Majesty,” he murmured, pushing the door of the shop open. “Won’t you step inside?”

She stalked into the shop, heels clacking on the floor. He stepped in after her, closing the door behind them. He turned to lock it, smiling slightly at his reflection in the dusty glass as she spun around. 

“What the hell did you think you were doing?”

He turned the key in the lock, and only then did he pivot to face her. “Opening the shop, dear. I was sure a clever woman like you could tell, what with the key and the door opening, and what have you.”

“Enough!” she snapped furiously. “You released the man who kidnapped Kathryn.”

He smiled placidly at her without baring any teeth. “I released the man who had been keeping her out of your hands,” he replied. “She was safe, well, unharmed, and now, she’s back in her home and under full-time police protection.”

“Out of my hands?” she echoed, folding her arms over her chest. “What are you implying?”

He laughed quietly. “Implying suggests that there’s something that cannot be said directly,” he replied. “I’m saying that if I had not ensured that Kathryn was safely out of your reach, I’m quite sure that Mary Margaret would have found herself in the cell I occupied.”

The Mayor - more Queen now than ever - bared her teeth. “That’s a bold statement.”

“Who else would fan the flames of doubt?” he challenged. “You know that if she had gone, Mary Margaret would have been the prime suspect.” He shook his head sternly. “I couldn’t let that happen, dearie. Not to my wife.”

“Your wife?” she said, laughing incredulously. “She’s not your wife, Rumpel. She was never your wife!” She stalked closer, leaning in until their faces were almost touching. “If she ever wakes up from this curse, can you imagine how much she’s going to want to hurt you for touching her? Violating her?” She smiled darkly. “I’m sure that Prince of hers is still good with a sword. God help you when he comes after you.”

Rumpelstiltskin’s hands tightened on his cane and he met her eyes. “You’re talking about the curse breaking,” he observed.

“I said ‘if’,” she reminded him. “In the meantime, I can’t help notice that the little woman had kicked you out.” She smirked. “Is it possible that she’s finally seen the true colours of the man she thought she loved?”

Rumpelstiltskin’s lips twitched. “Don’t imagine she didn’t see them all along,” he said, leaning on his cane more than was necessary. Anything to keep from lashing out at her. “You can cover a chair with a sheet, but no one will be fooled into thinking it’s a hatstand.”

“Hatstand or chair,” she said with a dismissive wave, “you’ve betrayed her, the man she loved before dear David Nolan woke up. That kind of thing can be damaging, you know. To have trust broken. If one can do it, why not another?”

He considered what he had told Mary Margaret in recent days, and the fact she was still shielding him from Emma’s wrath. Trust wasn’t broken. It was still there, fragile and shaken, but holding for the time being. That was worth a lot more than the love shared between any true loves.

“What is it you want?” he said, modulating his tone to quiet hostility, as if her words were a barb that had struck home. “Have you come to gloat? Or to criticise? I can’t tell.”

She unfolded her arms and tapped one finger against the centre of his chest. “You tried to frame me,” she said quietly, coldly.

He smiled, baring a glimpse of teeth. “I thought you might like to walk a mile in my shoes,” he said. “Nothing quite like the threat of incarceration to put a spring back in your step, is there?”

“You didn’t do a very good job,” she said, her eyes gleaming. “At least I made a good case against you. You didn’t even get me arrested.”

Rumpelstiltskin leaned closer and smiled. “Why, dearie, whoever said that was my intention?” 

She drew back, and for a moment, the confident mask slipped. “What?”

He stepped around her, smiling to himself. “You’ll see,” he said. He paused, picking up a pendant from one of the shelves and examining it. She started towards him. Rumpelstiltskin held up the pendant to the light. Without even turning, he murmured, “Please see yourself out, and close the door after you.”

He wasn’t surprised at all when she slammed the door behind her.


	72. Chapter 72

The manhunt had turned up nothing.

Emma was running herself ragged again. 

Mary Margaret could tell it wasn’t just the cases that were getting to her. She had been speaking to Archie about the possibility of seeking custody of Henry, and whatever Henry’s therapist had said, it couldn’t have been encouraging. 

It wasn’t helped by the fact Emma had openly made her intentions clear to Regina, and the Mayor had curtailed Henry’s movements, keeping him at home when he wasn’t in school, to be sure that Emma wasn’t interacting with him. He still managed to sneak out from time to time, but mostly, Emma had to hang around the school to catch a few minutes with him on her breaks.

On top of everything else, there was the issue with Cam.

Mary Margaret knew she should tell Emma everything. If he let the man escape, maybe he knew where he was hiding. She didn’t really believe that, but the fact was that the madman was a fugitive because her husband had let him go. 

Yet, she couldn’t do it. 

Cameron said he had a reason for releasing the man. Part of it was to do with Regina, but when he had looked at her, when he had told her that it was safer for the man to be free than to be locked up, she believed him. She didn’t want to. It didn’t feel right. But, she trusted him enough to know that he had a reason, even if he was lying to her about it.

She tried to distract herself from him, from thinking about anything to do with him. School was keeping her busy, and she even accepted an invitation from Kathryn to join her and David for dinner. 

David was taking his role of bodyguard seriously, and Mary Margaret was relieved about that, even if it cut into her time with him. Kathryn had dealt with enough. She didn’t need a crazy psycho coming after her again.

Kathryn insisted on cooking, though Mary Margaret only agreed as long as she was the one to bring dessert. Much to her surprise, it ended up being a pleasant evening. She supposed that escaping from a lunatic together was one of those rare situations that would diffuse any lingering awkwardness between a woman and her lover’s wife.

It wasn’t a big surprise that they talked about anything that wasn’t to do with the events in the Hatter house. 

It was a round table, and David sat between them, following the conversation like it was a tennis match, rather than joining in. He seemed confused by the fact they were all together, and Mary Margaret almost smiled. He hadn’t been in the house that night. He hadn’t helped her pick the lock or break out of the room. He hadn’t been the one who brought a chair leg down across the back of the madman’s knees, to knock him flat. He hadn’t been the one who wiped the blood from Mary Margaret’s busted lip and told her she would live.

It had to be classed as extreme girl-bonding.

When everything was cleared up and Kathryn finished the last of her wine, she looked between them. “I’m going to bed,” she informed them with the careful clarity of the slightly drunk. “Try not to make too much noise.”

Mary Margaret knew she was blushing, and it only got worse when Kathryn winked at her. It would have been subtle if the woman hadn’t been happily tipsy. Instead, she seemed to wink with half her face.

“We won’t be doing anything!” David said hastily.

Kathryn petted his cheek. “I’m sure,” she said, leaning up to peck him lightly on the other cheek. “Sleep well, when you get to bed.” She waved at Mary Margaret. “Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.”

David watched her make her way up the stairs with a dazed look. “She wasn’t always like this,” he said. “She used to be a lot more prim and proper.”

Mary Margaret moved a little closer to him. “Maybe she’s had a new perspective on life, after the last few weeks,” she said, slipping her hand into his. “I know I have.”

He looked at her, and his eyes widened in surprise when she took the initiative for once and pulled him down into a kiss. It warmed her right down to her toes, and she rose up, wrapping her arms around him.

She’d heard of people needing intimacy from their loved ones after an ordeal, but she knew this was nothing to do with that. Everything was coming into focus much more sharply. She loved David. She could have died, and she wanted him to know how he felt about her, in case such a thing should happen again. 

“Where’s your room?” she asked, whispering against his lips. 

“Mary Margaret…”

She shook her head. “She doesn’t mind, David,” she said. “Please.”

He looked at her, then smiled, and something behind his eyes was different. For so long, she’d seen him battling with confusion, amnesia, indecision, not quite sure who he was or what his place was. Now, he seemed to be seeing clearly.

“Come on,” he said, taking her by the hand.

The room was at the opposite end of the house from Kathryn’s. It was a good thing too, because for all their gentle, tender, careful love-making before, something had definitely changed. It couldn’t just be because of the abduction, but as they fell into one another’s arms, devouring each other, it felt right, like coming home. 

It was heated, it was passionate, it was the most intense thing Mary Margaret had ever experienced, and nearly fifteen minutes later, she was still breathing hard, sprawled on the bed beside him.

“Wow.”

He was lying on his back, a dreamy look on his face. “Yeah. That was… yeah…” He tilted his head to look at her. “When did you turn into Xena, Warrior Princess?”

Mary Margaret socked him on the chest. “I did not!”

“You mean tackling me was to protect me from the lone gunman on the grassy knoll?”

She stared at him, then dissolved into helpless giggles, the tension leaving her body for the first time in days. “You were asking for it,” she said, leaning up on her arm to look down at him. “All wide-eyed innocent animal shelter worker.” She prodded him in the chest. “I’m onto you, Mr Nolan.”

“Literally,” he said, grinning.

Mary Margaret knew she would have blushed if it had been days, even weeks earlier, but not now, not when she had him, and she loved him, and she knew for a fact that he felt exactly the same way.

“Charming,” she said, then stopped short with a puzzled look. “Huh.”

“Mm?” David’s hand was running the length of her back.

Mary Margaret looked at him. As Prince Charmings went, he was pretty accurate.

She shook her head. It was a crazy thought.

“Nothing,” she said, and leaned down to kiss him again.


	73. Chapter 73

Pinocchio was fading fast.

Privately, Rumpelstiltskin was relieved that Henry was no longer able to slip away to visit, because the half-man, half-wood creature that lay rigid on the bed would have been enough to give him nightmares. 

He couldn’t bring himself to be sympathetic to the man’s fate, because Pinocchio had known the price of his humanity when he went and squandered all of the time that he had. All the same, no one deserved to die alone, no matter how much of a fool they were.

Rumpelstiltskin opened the curtains when he entered the room, letting some watery, rain-heavy daylight in. There was an achingly slow creak of wood against wood as the man on the bed tried to turn his face towards daylight.

“Thank you,” he said. His voice sounded like the creak of timbers.

Rumpelstiltskin stood beside the window. “I’m not doing this for you,” he said.

“I know.” Pinocchio breathed in as much as he could, the sound rasping. “Progress?”

“The Sheriff and the Queen are at odds. I don’t know if it will be enough.” Rumpelstiltskin turned and approached the bed, looking down at the man. “We’ve given her all the evidence we can. There’s no magic we can use to persuade her now.”

Pinocchio shuddered, his breaths growing shallower. “Help her,” he whispered.

Rumpelstiltskin sat down on the edge of the bed. “I always have,” he said. Pinocchio’s arm twitched, a huge show of strength for a man who could barely move or breathe anymore. Rumpelstiltskin hesitated, then closed his hand around Pinocchio’s wrist. “You know why.”

“S-s-son.”

Rumpelstiltskin nodded. “The curse will break,” he said, his voice low. “But it can’t be forced.” He was silent for a moment, watching the grain shifting in Pinocchio’s features, aging, tensing, hardening. “I’ll tell your father you were brave. That you tried.”

The tears broke from the puppet’s half-glass eyes, rolling slow as woodsap down his wooden cheeks. The final gasping breath choked off as the last of the magic sustaining the puppet boy faded away.

Rumpelstiltskin sat back in silence, gazing at the expressionless face. The shimmering tracks of tears were still visible. 

Storybrooke had a low mortality rate. Uncannily low some might say. In all of the twenty-eight years, only two people had genuinely died. The first was Graham, for choosing love over subservience. The second was the man before him.

Finally, he leaned forward and gently closed the curved wooden lids over the glass eyes. 

It should have been enough to know the curse was breaking, but the knowledge was grating on him. Without knowing how long, being forced to watch and wait again, it was wearying, especially in a mortal body that felt the passage of time. It was unfamiliar, after so many years of immortality.

Rumpelstiltskin rose and exited the room. He placed the ‘Do Not Disturb’ sign on the door, as close to a ‘Rest in Peace’ as could be given at present.

It was still raining when he went to the front door of the Inn, but it was not a day to stay indoors and stare at nothing but the walls with only his thoughts for company. He took one of the umbrellas from the hatstand, and stepped out into the chill of the afternoon.

The streets were quiet. Children would still be in school, and any adults who weren’t bound by the 9 to 5 were probably staying in doors to avoid the downpour. Water gushed along the gutters, occasionally splashing up onto the sidewalks, raindrops sending circles rippling out in overlapping rings.

Rumpelstiltskin made his way across the street to the alcove that arched over some of the shops which framed the old clock tower, a brief refuge from the deluge as he continue to walk, trying not to think of the late Pinocchio.

His attention was anywhere but directly in front of him and he collided with another umbrella-wielding body with a grunt of surprise.

“Oh!” He stepped back. He knew he would recognise that voice anywhere, and was unsurprised when the other person tilted back their umbrella and looked at him with surprised blue eyes. Isabelle smiled at him. “Sorry. I wasn’t looking where I was going.”

He had never believed in karma, but she was the bright spot he needed in a day that had been rapidly getting worse. “Not to worry, dearie,” he said. “Nor was I.” He looked at the door they were standing in front of. The old library, which had been closed and abandoned for as long as the curse had been in place. Regina wasn’t a big reader. “What brings you to this place?”

She looked at the door with a sigh. “I thought it might be possible to get some books,” she said, giving the handle of a futile tug. “I’ve already read all the ones I have at home, and I don’t like TV.”

“You’ll have more luck getting blood from a stone than books from this place,” he said ruefully. He looked at her. “If you like, I have some books at the shop, or you could see if Mary Margaret could lend you some. She has quite the collection.”

Her face lit up. “That would be wonderful,” she said. “When the weather’s like this, it’s better to stay indoors with a book.”

He nodded wordlessly. He could remember more than enough times when he had found her nestled in his chair before the great fireplace, feet tucked beneath her, lost in a book and not even aware he was there until he tapped her firmly on the head.

He realised too late that she had asked him a question and was looking at him expectantly.

“Pardon, dearie?”

“I was just wondering what you were doing out in this weather,” she said. “I know why I’m out now, but don’t you work?”

His lips twitched. “Not so much lately,” he said. “It’s amazing what an accusation of abduction will do to your customer base.” She made a face at him. “Oh, I see. You can use your imprisonment to win arguments, but I can’t use mine to have an afternoon off.”

“Exactly,” she said, her eyes dancing. “We can negotiate when you had a bare mattress and a bucket in the corner.” She leaned a little closer. “I saw your cell, Mr Gold. You had windows and sheets. Practically the Hilton.”

He shook his head with a chuckle. “This isn’t an argument I’m going to win, is it?”

“Nope,” she said. 

He gazed at her. He should just let her walk away, to get back to her life, but he could no more do that than he could forget why he created the curse in the first place. “How would you like a cup of tea?” he asked. “I was going to go back to the diner. It’s dry there, at least.”

She glanced down at his left hand which was holding the umbrella, the hand still adorned with a wedding ring, then back at him. “I don’t want to get in the way. Ice cream last week and tea now. People might talk.”

His heart sank, but he smiled dismissively. “People always talk,” he said. “Until three days ago, they were saying Mary Margaret had kidnapped and murdered Kathryn Nolan, and last I checked, she was home, safe and well.” He offered her his arm, more nervous than he had initially realised. “It’s only tea, dearie. It’s hardly a proposal of marriage.”

If she rejected him now, it only would fuel the fears that she would reject him again when the curse broke and they were free.

Perhaps, he thought, it would be better that way. Sever ties now, before he could let himself care too deeply, too much, too desperately. 

Isabelle slipped her hand through his arm, and all thoughts of severing ties were forgotten.

“Just tea,” she said quietly. 

“And company,” he added, offering her a small, careful smile. 

She glanced up at him from beneath her lashes. Her smile was equally small and careful, but she hadn’t turned and walked away and that was a start.


	74. Chapter 74

Henry’s freedom was limited, so it was a surprise when he showed up at the Gold house one evening.

Mary Margaret was the one who opened the door for him. “Henry?”

“Hey, Mrs Gold,” he said with a bright smile. “Is it okay if I come in?”

She was too surprised to say no, opening the door wider to let him come in. “Won’t your mom wonder where you’ve gone?” she asked, as he kicked off his shoes and set them on the shoe-rack. 

“Nah,” he said. “She’s gone out with her friend.” He looked around the house. “Is Mr Gold in?”

Mary Margaret shook her head. “Mr Gold is staying somewhere else for a little while,” she said, wondering how much the boy had heard. No doubt gossip around town was spreading all kinds of rumours about why Mr Gold was living at the inn, away from his adulterous wife. 

“Oh.” Henry looked momentarily disappointed, but his face lit up at the sight of Emma, who was coming down the stairs, towelling her damp hair dry. “Hey, Emma!”

She stared at him, then her face broke into a grin, and he ran to her, throwing his arms around her middle. “Hey, kid!” she said, hugging him back. “What are you doing here? I thought you mom had started putting locks on all the doors and windows to keep you away from me.”

Henry shrugged, clinging happily onto her arm. “She had to go and do some work,” he said, as they followed Mary Margaret through to the kitchen. “She said he was from the council, but he didn’t look like he was a council person.”

“No suit?” Mary Margaret guessed.

Henry sat down on one of the chairs and shook his head. “I heard them talking before they left, and she was telling him about what you said,” he said, looking up at Emma. “He said he would help her make sure that she got to keep me.”

Emma’s expression was blank for a moment, then she smiled slightly. “So she’s lawyering up,” she said. “That means she knows she’s got something to worry about.” She ruffled Henry’s hair. “Guess that means I should take a leaf out of her book.”

“You don’t have a lawyer yet?” Mary Margaret said, startled. “I thought you were starting legal action.”

“I made the first move,” Emma said, “I wanted to see what she would do. She could have gone on the offensive, but it looks like she’s moving into defensive instead.”

“He doesn’t look like a lawyer,” Henry said, propping his elbows on the table. “He’s not real old or anything.”

A suspicious look crossed Emma’s face. “Did this guy tell you his name?”

Henry nodded. “He said he was called John Smith,” he said.

“Smith.” Emma stalked back through to the living room and returned a moment later with a phone directory. She sat down and flipped through it, studying the names. “Smith, Smith, Smith.” She tapped her finger to the page. “Family Lawyer. He’s in here.” She smiled wryly. “For a second, I thought it was someone using a fake name.”

Mary Margaret didn’t have to ask who. 

Their mysterious Jefferson had vanished as if by magic, and no one had seen hide nor hair of him in the week since he had escaped. Emma still suspected Regina was involved, and was like a determined dog with a bone. If the name had proven to be false, then Mary Margaret knew that Emma would have no qualms about dragging the Mayor out of her grand house and down to the jail all over again.

“So it’s going to come to the courts?”

Emma looked up at Mary Margaret. “Looks like it,” she said. “Do you think Gold would act as my lawyer?”

Mary Margaret hesitated. The last thing he had said to her was to make sure that Emma was safe. His priority was Emma, even if the reason wasn’t something as absurd as the curse that Henry believed in. “I think he would,” she said. She turned from them to fill a pan from the faucet. “He’d want to watch your back.”

“Did Mr Gold fall out with Mrs Gold?” Henry asked in a whisper that was just too loud.

Mary Margaret bit down on her lower lip and kept her attention on the stove. Emma didn’t know the details of what had happened. She only knew that they’d had words and that Gold was temporarily staying at Granny’s inn.

“It’s all kind of confusing with Mr Nolan and everything now,” Emma replied in a low voice. “Mr Gold is just letting Mrs Gold have a little bit of time to figure things out.” Mary Margaret glanced over her shoulder and Emma smiled quickly at her. “They’ll be okay soon.”

Would they?

Mary Margaret wished she had Emma’s confidence, but for all that she wished her husband would come home, it didn’t change the fact that he had lied to her. The escape of Jefferson was only the tip of something much larger. She knew he had secrets. God knows he wore them as neatly as he wore his suits, but that didn’t make it easier to stomach when it was something that affected her. 

If he would just be honest with her, she knew she could forgive him.

She set the pan down on the hob, and lit the gas. “Do you want to stay for dinner, Henry?” she asked without turning around.

“That’d be awesome!” Henry said.

“What would you tell your mom, if she cooked when she came home?” Emma cautioned. “She’d be mad if she knew you’d come to spend time with me.”

“I’ll tell her I made peanut butter and jelly sandwich tower because I was hungry,” he replied. 

Mary Margaret could tell he was grinning from ear to ear without even looking. There was nothing that Henry Mills liked more than outwitting his mother. Not that Mary Margaret could blame him at all. 

Sometimes, it was just nice to wipe the smug smile off the Mayor’s face.


	75. Chapter 75

They only met to exchange books.

That was what Rumpelstiltskin said. That was what Isabelle French pretended to believe. He would bring her books from the shop. She would thank him. They would have a cup of tea, discuss the books she had most recently read, and if he was lucky, she would allow him to walk her at least part of the way home. 

It was always in Granny's diner. It was a neutral place, and not somewhere that was known for its romantic atmosphere or for stirring the passions. Granny certainly wasn't about to let it become so. She kept a stern eye on him, in case he dared to do anything inappropriate.

He placed the latest stack of books on the table, his palm spread on the topmost cover, and pushed them towards her. "I think you'll enjoy these ones," he said as she reached out for them. Her hands framed the sides of the books, but just enough that her thumbs grazed his hands.

She blushed, and he drew his hand back, lowering his eyes for a moment to allow her to gather herself. 

"Thank you," she said, picking up the top book to look at the title. "Jane Eyre." Her eyes lit up. "I love this book."

"You didn't strike me as the Gothic type," he observed.

She shrugged with a small smile. "Some archetypes cover more than one genre," she said. She opened the heavy leather cover, smoothing the first page. "I think this is a good example of a Beauty and the Beast story, only Jane's beauty is what's inside her instead of her appearance."

"Then it's not exactly a beauty and the beast tale, is it?" he challenged with a quirk of his lips.

She gave him a stern look. "Semantics," she said. "Everyone sees Rochester as this horrible, ugly man living in his mysterious house, and no one knows anything about him, except that he's got lots of money. The only time anyone comes to him is for his money, but Jane doesn't care about that."

"Is that so?" Rumpelstiltskin leaned closer over the table. "How can you be sure?"

She pulled a face at him. "Because she comes back to find him when she's not poor anymore," she said. "If money was so important to her, she would have ignored the immorality of living with him and stayed for his fortune."

"Hmm." He wagged a finger at her. "That doesn't mean it's a beauty and the beast tale. He was the only man she had around. Of course she was going to swoon over him."

She swatted his hand aside. "She wouldn't swoon," she said severely. "Jane's practical. And she didn't fall for him because he was the only man around. She fell for him because he talked to her like she was a person, and listened to her when she spoke." she was never afraid of him, even when he was acting like a grumpy idiot."

"Ha!" Rumpelstiltskin snorted, picking up his teacup. Her words were all pricking rather unpleasantly at his conscience.

Isabelle's blue eyes gleamed and she stole one of the cookies from his plate. "You're doing a good impression of him right now," she said. "Grumpy and mysterious and sarcastic."

"Do I hear Jane calling Rochester sarcastic?" he countered before he could prevent himself. "Bookish, direct, and witty, wasn't she? Not afraid to speak her mind to her Mr Rochester?"

Isabelle stared at him, then ducked over her own cup. 

Rumpelstiltskin sipped his tea, quite sure he was blushing like a schoolboy.

Suddenly, his choice of book seemed very unfortunate. 

He wasn't surprised when she set down her teacup. "I should get home," she said. "Papa will be worried." She pulled on her coat with shaking hands, and when she rose, he rose as well. "Maybe you shouldn't walk me back," she said, avoiding his eyes. "It's all right."

All the same, he walked her to the door and they stood outside in the chilly spring air.

"I didn't mean to offend you," he said quietly.

Only then did she look at him. "You didn't," she said quietly. "That's the problem." She picked up the bag from the ground. "I-I don't know what's happening between you and Mrs Gold, but you're still married." She looked down at her shoes. "I can't be around you. I can't. You... we shouldn't see each other."

And the axe blow fell.

He had always known it would come. 

The curse seldom allowed for happiness to prevail.

"If that's what you want, dearie," he said, his throat closing on the words.

A thin, pained sound escaped her throat. "It's not," she whispered. "God knows it's not." She rose on her toes and pressed a kiss to his cheek. "I'm sorry."

Just like that, she was gone, running, the bag of books hugged to her chest. 

Rumpelstiltskin stared after her. He should have been pleased to know that her affection for him was still there, hidden beneath layers of Isabelle French, but she was walking away again. She had chosen to turn her back on him this time. She had made the decision and she was walking away.

He took a steadying breath.

The shop.

He should go to the shop. It was quiet there, isolated, and he could calm himself. 

He had a meeting scheduled with Emma later in the afternoon to discuss her ongoing custody battle for Henry, even if he knew it was a futile exercise. The Sheriff had heard rumours that the Mayor had sought legal counsel, and so, she called on him for the same reason. He was to play lawyer in a court that was nothing more than Regina's puppetshow.

Rumpelstiltskin made his way through the streets on legs that felt like lead. 

Watching her walk away once had been bad enough, but a second time was that much sharper a pain.

He was so caught up in his thoughts that he almost missed the fact that the shop door was ajar. He paused, frowned, and touched the door with his fingertips. It swung inwards. He knew for a fact it had been locked when he left, and the lock had not been forced, which meant that only one person could have opened it.

Rumpelstiltskin shifted his cane in his hand.

It was unlikely to be a robbery, so he could only imagine that Regina intended to incapacitate the one person who would willingly stand as legal aid to Emma Swan.

He knew the shop better than anyone, knew every part of it, by daylight or in darkness. 

He stepped inside.


	76. Chapter 76

It was almost a week since Mary Margaret had spoken to her husband.

She had seen him around in town, though she suspected he didn't know that. He had been busy from the looks of things, deep in conversation with the woman he had briefly been accused of abducting. 

Mary Margaret didn't know what to make of it. She heard murmurs in the staff room at the school. He'd been seen walking with Isabelle French. He met her for tea at Granny's. They went for ice cream. They looked very cosy together, and if rumours were to be believed, he could barely take his eyes off her.

She had no right to be outraged or jealous, and yet it hurt. 

It hurt to know that when Cameron said that he was old, that his passions were all used up, it only meant that she no longer interested him. He wasn't too old when it came to a slight brunette girl who was less than half his age. He was just too old when it came to Mary Margaret Gold, his wife.

It would have been easier to be annoyed about it if Isabelle French hadn't been such a lovely young woman. It was hard to play the scorned woman when you had to admit that your rival was a sweet-natured, kind person, who had survived a horrifying experience that would have broken a lesser woman. It was even harder to play the scorned woman when your husband had already given you consent to take a handsome, decent man as a lover. 

All the same, Mary Margaret looked long and hard at herself in the mirror, trying to find what had changed, to see if she could understand what it was that made Cameron tire of her. She couldn't see any difference between the woman who had signed the register, and the woman who looked back at her.

It was true that she no longer fretted and worried about what people said behind her back. She felt like she could face anything they threw at her. She was better at standing her ground, and she knew for a fact that Mary Margaret Blanchard would never have been bold enough to tackle an armed man.

She tried to put it from her mind, but she couldn't help wondering what else he hadn't told her, what careful untruths he had offered her to keep her from being hurt. Or whether he was just lying about it all, and that he really was just bored with her.

It wasn't something she could talk to anyone about: David wouldn't understand why it bothered her, and Emma had been screwed over by too many men to be surprised by anything. Cameron was always the one she would talk to about things that upset her, and now, he was one of those things.

He didn't call her, and she didn't know if she was relieved or disappointed that he wasn't even making an effort to get back in her good graces.

The phone call, when it did come, came out of the blue.

She was on her way home, a bag of shopping in one arm, her handbag on the other, and she fumbled for the phone when it rang. She looked at the cell blankly. She didn't need to check the screen to know who the caller was. Much to his annoyance, she had insisted on giving him his own ring tone. It was a song he hated, but it amused her. 

She could just ignore it, she knew, but he wouldn't call unless it was important.

"Cam," she said, putting the phone to her ear.

"Hello, dearie," he said with only the tiniest of hesitations. "How are you?"

"Been better," she said, pausing at the bottom of the steps that led up to the house. "What do you want?"

"Straight to the point," he observed wryly. "Unfortunately, this is business. Has Regina been making any overtures towards Emma? Regarding custody?"

She frowned. "Last I heard, she had hired some John Smith as a lawyer, but Emma was meant to be talking to her today, before she came to see you."

Cameron was silent for a moment. "Can you let Miss Swan I may need to cancel our appointment?" he said. "I think I may have found out what Regina has in mind."

"Cam, I'm not your messenger service," Mary Margaret said tiredly. "Call her."

"I've tried," he cut across her abruptly. "Her cell is switched off. Tell her not to trust any goodwill gestures Regina may have made."

"For God's sake, Cam!" Mary Margaret raised her eyes to the sky. "Can you stop being cryptic and secretive for five damn minutes and tell me what's going on?"

To her surprise, he didn't even hesitate. "Regina plans to poison her."

"Oh, yes, of course," Mary Margaret snapped, storming up the steps towards the front door. "The Evil Queen. Did she get a new batch of apples in?"

"Mary Margaret." There was a sharpness in his voice that he never used when speaking to her. "Whatever you may think, whatever you may believe, I am trying to save Miss Swan's life. If you care for her half as much as I'm sure you do, even if you think I'm lying or playing you for the fool, do as I ask. Tell her not to eat anything that witch has given her."

Mary Margaret closed her eyes. "Fine," she said, feeling exhausted. "Okay. I'll tell her not to eat anything or drink anything, in case the Evil Queen has done some abracadabra over it."

"Thank you," her husband said, releasing a trembling breath. "Thank you. That's all I ask."

He sounded as drained as she felt. "Cam," she said in a small voice. "Cam, what happened between us? Why won't you just tell me what's going on?"

He laughed, a tired, almost broken sound. "I tried," he said. "Keep your girl safe, dearie. Keep her safe."

He ended the call without even saying goodbye and Mary Margaret looked at the cell sadly. She slipped it into her pocket, and reached for the front door, pushing it open.

She could see Henry's shoes and rucksack by the shoerack, and Emma's coat was hung on the hook. She could hear them talking in the kitchen, and slipped off her own shoes before heading for the kitchen door.

"I don't care!" Henry's voice reached her. "You might not believe in the curse or me or anything, but I believe in you!"

"Henry!" Emma called out impatiently. "Don't be ridiculous!"

"I'm not," Henry replied.

Mary Margaret pushed the door open.

Henry was standing on one side of the island in the middle of the kitchen, facing Emma, and he was gripping a pastry in his hand. With unnecessary ferocity, he took a huge bite, staring determinedly at Emma.

"What's going on?" Mary Margaret said.

"Henry thinks Regina is trying to poison me," Emma said with a sigh, looking at the boy, as he swallowed down the mouthful. "So, how is it?"

Mary Margaret didn't know which of them cried out louder when Henry's eyes rolled in his head and he collapsed.


	77. Chapter 77

Rumpelstiltskin made his way back down into the basement beneath the shop.

Regina's little trap was proving useful. The cell door was sturdy and soundproof. No amount of screaming could be heard, even if some unwitting customer walked into the shop. 

The shop itself was closed, the shutters down, so no one would see the chaos. Broken glass littered the floor. Many items had been smashed. They weren’t significant. What mattered was that he was standing. His assailant had underestimated him, as so many did. 

It had not mattered that he was attacked by a man broader and stronger than he was. He knew the terrain. Using his own body weight, he had pushed back hard and driven the attacker straight into one of the cabinets. It was low enough to catch the man behind the knees, overbalancing him. That was when the bruising grip on Rumpelstiltskin's throat and shoulder faltered. 

Rumpelstiltskin wielded his cane like the wrath of the gods, whirling and striking, rendering his attacker insensible. It was Jefferson who sprawled on the ground, blood puddling around his head. He had turned on an ally once out of impatience. It came as no surprise that he would do it again.

Unconsciousness could only last so long. 

Rumpelstiltskin half-dragged, half-rolled the man through to the backshop and down into the prison that Regina had constructed.

In the quiet, dark little cell, they talked.

More accurately, he had persuaded Jefferson to reveal everything he knew by dint of violence, threats, and in the end, the gentle whisper that whether the curse broke or not, he would make sure everyone believed that Jefferson had done terrible things - cruel and believable and nightmarish things - to Grace. 

He would, he promised, make sure that she would be kept away from her father for her own safety for the rest of her life. It was a simple deal. Information or Grace stripped from her father forever.

It was the breaking point, as Rumpelstiltskin knew it would be.

With Rumpelstiltskin's hand on his shoulder, his clothing sodden with blood and vomit, his arms pinioned behind his back with zipcords, and his head hanging, Jefferson had sobbed out his confession. 

It seemed there was some little magic left to be reaped in Storybrooke, and the Queen had done just that.

Rumpelstiltskin stood in the open doorway. The light from the main room cast his shadow over Jefferson. The man was a broken heap on the floor. "You'll be pleased to know that Miss Swan is safe from your interference," he said, leaning on his cane. There were still bloodstains on the handle. "I warned you of the dangers of breaking a deal with me, Hatter."

"My name," the Hatter whispered, rocking from side to side, "is Jefferson."

"Your name," Rumpelstiltskin said, "is irrelevant."

Jefferson looked up, wild-eyed. "Will you let me go? I can't see her if I'm here, and if I can't see her, I-I-I can't." He shuddered violently. "Please, let me go. Let me see her."

"You should have thought about that before you attacked me," Rumpelstiltskin replied, gazing at him placidly. "In this glorious little country, I could get away with shooting you right between the eyes for breaking into my shop and attacking me." He stepped a little closer and used the end of his cane to lift Jefferson's chin. "I don't deal well with treachery, dearie."

"She's my little girl," Jefferson whispered brokenly. "She's all I have. I had to do anything I could to get her back. Don't you understand?"

Rumpelstiltskin drew the cane back, resting the tip on the floor. "I understand all too well," he murmured, "but that doesn't change anything. You're staying here until my work is done. Only then will I consider letting you loose again."

He stepped back out of the room and closed the door, ignoring Jefferson's moan of despair. A fresh lock clicked into place, and he pressed his hand to the heavy door. Better that the Hatter was confined and unable to interfere any further. For now at least, the Saviour was safe.

He returned to the shop to put some semblance of order back in place. It wasn't until he had tidied the worst of the damage that he found his cellphone, where he had left it in the backshop. It seemed he had missed several calls, and he was surprised to see that they were all from Mary Margaret. She always found it frustrating that he kept the phone on silent. An avoidance technique, she accurately called it. 

He flicked through the options to find voicemail.

She sounded hysterical, talking wildly about Henry eating something and collapsing. 

Rumpelstiltskin looked at the phone. 

So, the Saviour was safe, but her determined little boy was not. The sleeping curse was a potent one, but it had never once gone unbroken. Had Emma eaten the fruit, he wasn't sure if it would have been possible to save her, but Henry...

There were at least two people in Storybrooke with the power to bring him back, whether they realised it or not.

He set the cellphone down.

If they didn't realise, if they were so oblivious to their own devotion to the boy, he knew they would come to him, and he had to be ready. The curse would be broken, and soon. If he knew the Sheriff and the Queen as well as he suspected, he knew they would come to him first.

Rumpelstiltskin made his way to a locked trunk at the back of the shop, and went down on one knee to open it. His hands were trembling so much, he could barely turn the key in the padlock. He lifted the heavy lid and looked at the case lying within, protected as it had been for so many years, until the time was right.

The Saviour would come, she would take her father's sword, and soon, she would break the curse.

Soon, he would be free. Soon, he would be able to take back the power he needed and find his son. Soon, everything and everyone would be who they were meant to be.

He heard the bell at the front door of the shop jangle, and he rose, carrying the sword in its case.

Soon.


	78. Chapter 78

Henry was still unconscious.

Doctor Whale couldn't find any physical symptoms. Mary Margaret knew it all came down to that pastry, the one Regina had intended for Emma. Framing Cam was bad enough, but spiking a cake and putting a child in hospital was beyond the pale.

Regina ran in, sobbing like she had nothing to do with it all, and Mary Margaret felt fury rise in her like a tide. She whirled around and socked the Mayor right in the face.

Everyone stopped to stare: doctors, nurses, even other patients. 

"What the hell are you doing?" Regina's voice was shrill with pain and outrage.

"What am I doing?" Mary Margaret snarled. "I'm not the one who put Henry in hospital!"

Regina's face went white. "What?" she whispered.

"Stay with Henry," Emma said steadily, putting herself between Mary Margaret and Regina. "She and I are going to have a talk."

The way she said 'talk' sounded more like 'fight to the death', and Mary Margaret couldn't argue with that.

They'd vanished off, Emma holding Regina's arm in a merciless grip, and they hadn't returned. Maybe they were fetching the antidote. Maybe Emma was giving Regina the ass-kicking of her life. Mary Margaret didn't know. All she knew was that Emma wanted her to watch Henry, and by God, she was going to keep anyone else away who would do the boy harm.

The doctors managed to stabilise him, but he was hooked up to a dozen machines, an oxygen mask over his face. She could see several of them talking quietly over the boy's charts, and the look on their faces made her sink down into the seat by the bed, trembling. 

Whatever it was that Regina had put in the food, it looked like it was killing him.

Her eyes felt hot and wet, but she blinked hard. 

Breaking down wouldn't help anyone.

She retrieved Henry's book, abandoned on another bed, and sat as she had with David, so many weeks ago. "How about I read to you, Henry?" she said, trying to keep her voice steady. "It worked for David. Maybe it'll help, huh?"

The rest of the ward was quiet, and the only sounds were the beeping and whirring of the machines monitoring his condition. She kept her voice lowered, as she started to read from the book, reading stories that she now knew so well. If it was all true, it would make things so much simpler. Magic could fix everything. Magic could save him.

Halfway through the story of Snow White and Prince Charming, someone touched her shoulder.

Mary Margaret jumped, turning sharply in the seat. Cameron was there, looking at the boy. She had never been so glad to see her husband. She set the book down and rose to wrap her arms around him, and when he put his arm lightly around her shoulder, she felt that - for a moment - things could be all right.

"I tried to call you," she said, her voice trembling.

"I got your message," he murmured. "Miss Swan and the Queen came by the shop."

Mary Margaret stiffened in his embrace and drew back to stare at him. "What?"

He looked tired, drawn. "I don't know how many more times I can tell you it's true, dearie," he said, meeting her eyes. "Can't you see what's right in front of you? Didn't I warn you of the Queen's intention? Didn't I tell you she was trying to harm Miss Swan?"

"Cam," Mary Margaret's voice felt tight in her throat. she could feel tears gathering in her eyes. "Cam, don't be ridiculous. It can't be possible."

He looked back at her. "Emma believes," he said, lifting his hand to cup her cheek. "Listen to me, dearie. I know it seems impossible, but every word in that book is written from truth." She shook her head, but he held her face gently. "Think about all you've seen, all you know. It explains everything."

She didn't want to be crying, but she was. If he was having a breakdown, if he believed in that nonsense as much as Henry did, what else could she do but try and help him? She covered his hand on her cheek. "Cam, it's all fairytales."

"Yes, dearie," he said quietly, "but that doesn't mean it's not true." He brushed her cheek with his thumb. "You and I had a good life, didn't we? Storybrooke hasn't been as cruel to us as it might have been."

"Cam, we're still having a good life," she protested, catching his arm with her other hand. "Why are you talking like this?"

"Because tonight is the night everything will change," he replied, looking down at Henry.

Something in the way he said it made her tremble.

"He's not going to die," she whispered. "He can't."

"He can," Cameron said quietly. "He's only a child. But not tonight." He looked at her. "Your grandson is stronger than anyone knows. Just like your daughter."

"I don't und..." Mary Margaret stared at him. "Emma."

"Emma." He nodded. He drew her head down and kissed her brow gently, then stepped back. "Call David. He should be here. This is a family matter."

A family matter, and he was taking himself out of it.

Tears stung her eyes.

"You should stay," she said, her voice trembling.

He shook his head. "This isn't my place, dearie," he said quietly, not without sadness. 

"It isn't David's either!" she replied heatedly. "Cam, you're my husband! This is the real world. No fairytales. No curses. No nonsense. I want you to stay with me here." She reached out to catch his hand. It was limp between her fingers. "Please, Cam. I can't just sit and watch. Not alone."

Her husband looked at the boy in the bed. "Call on David," he said again, avoiding her eyes. "Disbelieve me if you will, but when the time comes, you'll be glad he's here." His voice faltered for a moment. "You don't need me anymore."

He drew his hand from hers, turned and started to walk away.

"Cam." Her voice was clipped, tight. She wrapped her arms around her middle.

He stopped, motionless. "Yes, dearie?"

"Did... did you ever care at all? About me?"

He looked over his shoulder at her. "There's the tragedy of the matter," he said quietly. "I did."


	79. Chapter 79

Rumpelstiltskin stood on the sidewalk outside of the French house, his hand in his jacket pocket, wrapped around the small glass vial that contained the last of the true love potion. He should have already been halfway to the woods, before the Sheriff and Mayor came after him, but there was one thing he wanted to do first.

It was folly to be there, but with the world turning so rapidly, he knew he wanted to set things right first. His encounter with Mary Margaret at the hospital had left him drained. It shouldn't have. The memories were false. The life was false. And yet, when she cried, he still wanted nothing more than to dry her tears.

It wasn't his place to do so.

His place. 

He almost laughed at the wrongness of it all. 

Consciously, he knew he had no place, he never had a place. That was the nature of his life. After Bae, the closest he had come was Belle, and he had shattered that opportunity before it even had a chance to happen. Consciously, he was prepared, even used to being alone.

Now, after twenty-eight years, his mind knew one reality, but his heart told him otherwise.

Some part of him wanted to be comforting the woman who was his wife. Some part of him wanted to support her as the world turned. Some part of him was screaming that he was a fool for turning away from the woman who did accept him, faults and all, to come and moon over the woman who had walked away from him.

With the morning, that wife would be gone. 

He knew it.

Emma Swan would break the curse, as she had been born to.

Everything that was his life in Storybrooke would be smashed apart, and he would have nothing again. 

He wouldn't even have Belle, but the least he could do was make sure that she knew he was sorry for all the pain he had caused her. 

Rumpelstiltskin took out his cellphone and tapped on her number. It was barely seven in the morning, but he didn't have time to wait for her to wake. His heart was thumping painfully as he looked at the plain little two storey house. He saw the light in the upper window go on a moment before she answered.

"'Lo?"

"Isabelle. It's Gold."

There was a long, breathless silence. "What do you want?"

He hesitated, his chest feeling unnaturally tight. "I'm outside, dearie," he said quietly. "Could you come down for a moment?"

The curtain covering the window was twitched aside and he saw a glimpse of her pale face. The telephone disconnected, and the light went out. Rumpelstiltskin slipped his cell back into his right-hand pocket. The left was already occupied. 

It felt like forever before the front door opened enough to let Isabelle emerge onto the path, her arms folded over her chest. She was wrapped in a thick, fleecy dressing gown, her feet tucked into woollen slippers that looked more like knitted boots. She looked smaller, more fragile.

"Why are you here?" she asked tiredly.

Rumpelstiltskin knew he was a coward. He always had been. But now, he knew he had to be brave.

"I needed to apologise," he said quietly, forcing himself to look her full in the face. "For everything I did, everything I said before you left." It would make little sense to Isabelle, but when Belle was herself once more, she would understand. 

She looked blankly at him, rubbing her arms with her hands. "You woke me for that? I told you it was okay."

He took one step closer, then another until they were barely an arm’s length apart. "Things are changing," he said, drinking her in, her sleepy features, her mussed hair, her drowsy eyes. "I had to make things right between us. I've made mistakes before. I couldn't make them again. Not this time. Not with you."

She lifted one hand to rub at her eyes. "I don't understand," she said, shaking her head. "What do you want?"

"I want you to know I never should have let you walk away," he replied. 

Her eyes widened and she took a step back. "Mr Gold, I-I don't think this is a good idea."

"It never is, dearie," he said. He looked down at his feet, then raised his eyes back to her face. "I've been a coward too many times. Too many brave people I've cared about have told me so, and they were right."

Her hands fell to hang loosely by her sides. “Mr Gold…”

He held up a hand. “Please,” he said quietly, “I’ll go soon. I just have to tell you that you were right. You were always right.” He stepped that last little step, closed the distance between them, and she looked up, startled, nervous, confused, but she didn’t pull away. “I want you to know I’m sorry for everything that happened the last time I saw you. I upset you and I hurt you and I should never have let you go.”

Her eyes were wide, the pupils dark and full in the dim morning light. “Mr Gold, you… I don’t understand why you’re telling me this.”

He couldn’t help it. He knew he should walk away before he regretted it, but he didn’t. He raised his hand, cool from the bottle he had been holding, touched her cheek, and when her breath caught so did his.

“Y-you should go,” she whispered.

He gazed at her, his Belle under the mask of Isabelle. She would be back so very soon, and she would be there and yet so far away, and he couldn’t let that happen, not without showing her how he felt.

He was trembling as he leaned down and brushed his lips against hers. 

That was all it should have been: a kiss as chaste and gentle as the one she had given him so many years before.

He drew back at her tiny, breathless sigh, and he would have been satisfied. Her eyes had fallen closed, but they fluttered open and she stared at him, then caught the front of his jacket and pulled him back, kissing him again.

His heart thundered and he found himself with his hand in her hair and she was clinging onto him as if he could keep her from drowning.

It was Belle. Of course she wouldn’t let it go at one kiss.

A car roared passed and they pulled apart, breathless.

Isabelle’s cheeks were scarlet and her hand leapt to her lips. He was shaking from head to toe, and he couldn’t pick a reason why. She was too. She turned and darted back towards the house, covering the half dozen steps before he called out.

“Belle.”

She froze, hand on the door, and turned to look over her shoulder. “No one calls me that,” she said.

He took a steadying breath, leaning on his cane to keep himself upright. “I would,” he said quietly. He forced himself to calmness. “I love you.”

Her eyes widened. “Don’t,” she said, shaking her head. “Don’t say that.”

Rumpelstiltskin darted his tongue along his lower lip. “It had to be said,” he said. He bowed slightly at the waist. “I’m sorry for troubling you. If you want to see me again, you know where I can be found.”

He had to force himself to turn, and he closed his eyes, holding his breath until he heard the door close. Only then did the restraint that was holding him straight and tall snap like a taut thread, and - bent as an old man - he went on his way.


	80. Chapter 80

Alarms were wailing and Mary Margaret was standing in the corridor outside the ward.

The doctors and nurses had rushed in when the monitor tracking Henry's heartbeat flatlined. She had been buffeted aside, knocked this way and that, too horrified and dazed to even look where she was going. There was noise, raised voices, the rattle of the crash cart.

Mary Margaret leaned against the wall, trembling. 

The glass wall of the ward showed nothing but her reflection. The pale curtains had been drawn to keep curious passers-by from seeing the death of a child. She didn't know if she was relieved by that or distressed. Henry shouldn't be on his own, not now. He should have someone who cared for him there, even if he didn't know it, but they wouldn't let her in. Not a relative, and neither of his mothers were anywhere to be seen.

As noisy as the ward was, the sudden silence hit her like tidal wave.

She felt sick, sinking to sit in a heap at the bottom of the wall.

Henry had always been one of her favourite pupils, even if she knew she shouldn't choose between them. She looked up as the door of the ward opened. Doctor Whale emerged, looking drawn, and she turned her head when footsteps thundered towards him. Emma. Regina. Both back. 

Mary Margaret knew she should get up. She knew she should brush away her own tears. Both of the women had lost their child, and she was sitting on the floor and crying. Neither of them even noticed her, rushing around Whale to go into the ward, and the curtain was pushed aside by one of the nurses.

Mary Margaret struggled to her feet, stumbling to the window.

Henry looked like he was just sleeping.

"Mary Margaret?"

For a moment, she hoped and wished it was Cameron. She needed him. He could support her, keep her strong enough to help Emma. She turned, and her heart both fell and leapt at the sight of David. She had sent him a text, but she didn't think he would be up so early.

"David," she whispered, rushing to him and crashing into his arms.

He held her tightly. "What happened?"

Her voice broke as she sobbed, "Henry."

his hand stroked over her hair, broad and warm. "God, I'm sorry," he said softly. He must have looked into the ward, seen the Mayor and Emma both there. "Regina loved that kid."

"So did Emma," Mary Margaret said, barely comprehensible.

He wrapped his arms around her, and for a second, she could let herself just be small and drained and broken. She could feel his heartbeat against her ear, and it was slow and steady, calming. She closed her eyes.

Suddenly, David swore and she felt like the world had been tugged sharply beneath their feet, as if they were standing on a conjuror's table and the cloth had been pulled away.

Her eyes opened and she was in a new world.

Snow White caught her breath.

She remembered Charming on the floor, covered in blood, their child gone, Regina laughing.

She looked up, her breathing fast, ragged. Charming. Charming whole and standing and right in front of her, and he was staring back at her.

"Snow?"

She reached up to touch his face, his face that was truly his. Not David. Never David. Her Charming, always her Charming. "It's you," she whispered, tears pouring down her face. "Charming, it's you."

The hospital seemed to fall away around them and he was kissing her like it was the end of the world. 

"I thought you were dead," she whispered against his lips, her hands against his cheeks. "You were..." 

Memories hit her like ice water.

Henry.

 _Henry_.

Emma.

Her daughter. Her grandson.

She spun around to see Regina rushing out of the ward. The woman stopped dead, staring at them in horror, then fled. Charming moved as if to follow, but Snow caught his wrist.

"No," she said, her eyes on the bed in the ward. Henry was alive, awake, upright, smiling like it was his birthday. "There's time for that later." She slid her hand down to clasp his. "We have someone to meet."

He looked at her in confusion, then into the ward. "Emma?" he said, dazed. "Our Emma?"

Snow White's smile felt like it would crack her face in two. "She found us," she said. "She saved us."

They walked into the ward and Henry beamed at them, waving. Emma turned warily, looking at them both.

"You did it," Snow White said, looking her brave, beautiful girl up and down. She was covered in ash, singed, her hair sooty, but she was standing and as brave and strong as her father.

"Yeah," Emma said self-consciously with a sheepish look at Henry. "True love's kiss. Who knew?"

Snow White fidgeted. She knew Emma hated hugs. All her memories as Mary Margaret told her that much. She wasn't a tactile person. Snow lasted all of five seconds before she released Charming's hand to rush over and flung her arms around her daughter. "I'm so proud of you!"

Emma stumbled, startled, and Snow White almost sobbed with joy when her daughter hesitantly hugged her back.

A third pair of arms joined from behind, Charming. Then Henry leaned out across the bed and added his arms to the pile.

Emma hid her face in Snow White's shoulder, her fingers digging hard into Snow's back, and Snow White could feel hot tears on her skin. She stroked Emma's hair gently, soothing her child for the first time, holding her as she should have done for years.

"Welcome home, Emma," she whispered. "Welcome home."


	81. Chapter 81

There was change in the air.

A storm was coming, the sky dark and black.

Rumpelstiltskin walked through the forest as briskly as he could. His leg was screaming in protest, but he forced himself onwards, as fast as he could. He should never have stopped to make his amends with Belle. He should never have visited the hospital to make peace with Mary Margaret. He should never have tried to find closure for the women who were so central to both of his very different lives.

Now was not a good time to try and become a gallant.

The ground was damp and rough beneath his feet. Several times, he stumbled on roots when his mind drifted back to that brief, wonderful moment when Belle was kissing him. He knew he should focus, but it would be the last moment of happiness he could allow himself.

Once the curse broke, Belle would be free in a new and exciting world with all the freedom she needed to see all and anything, as long as it was everything.

He paused to catch his breath, leaning against a tree. The well was ahead, and all he had to do was release the bottle containing the last dregs of true love into the magic waters. Magic would return and then, he would be able to use that power to end what he had begun the night he had let his son slip through his fingers. 

Bae was out there, in the world outside their insipid Storybrooke bubble, and he only needed to be found.

That had to be his focus now.

Belle would be free to see the world. Snow White would be reunited with her family. Bae would be found.

Rumpelstiltskin knew he was a coward. He always had been, and even now, he knew he always would be, but at least now, he could resist the urge to flee. It didn't make him brave or any less afraid, but it made him less of a coward. That was why he was able to close the distance between himself and the well. 

He was terrified of finding Bae.

After everything he had done, after sacrificing the old world for this new one, after spending years, decades, centuries twisting and turning magics to reach the world where his son was, he was afraid. He was afraid of what Bae would say. He was afraid that he would be shunned. He was afraid he would be hated.

He couldn't stop being afraid, but now, at least, he couldn't let the fear stop him.

He unstoppered the bottle, the liquid shimmering bright and purple within.

His heart was racing as much as it had when he faced Belle.

The scent of magic caught on the breeze. 

It probably smelled different for everyone, but to him, there was the scent of beeswax candles, of ink and burnt parchment, of a thunderstorm on the plains after a dry summer, of the racks of dried herbs bound in the rafters. Everything about it whispered of knowledge and power, addictive as ever. 

His fingers trembled as he opened them and the vial plunged down into the darkness. 

He heard the splash and felt the surge of magic like a breath of spring breeze. He stepped back, watching as magic billowed up over the lip of the well, swirling like mist and gathering pace. The rich purple cloud enveloped him, and he closed his eyes, feeling the familiar ripples and thrum of it within his skin.

It took a moment to gather some little power.

In this world, he wasn't the Dark One. The power was there for the taking, but he was only a man and the power was not as obedient as it had been. Still, centuries of knowledge and experience counted for something, and he felt the power twist about his knee, easing the pain.

He remained there, watching the power rising like a tidal wave. It gathered impetus, surging towards town.

If the curse had been broken - by now, it should have been - they would recognise it for what it was.

It would not be the same as it was in the forest, but with those with power would be able to touch it again. It was about time that Emma discovered just how powerful she really was. Born of true love but raised without, it was a diamond buried in coal. It would just take power to make her shine.

Only when the whorling cloud of magic began to dissipate did he start back towards town.

He could find Belle now, but he didn't dare to. He had told her the truth. He had made his confessions. Whether she acted on them was up to her. He almost smiled wryly at the memory: no one decides my fate but me. No, no one ever did, not for his Belle.

As for Mary Margaret, if she was Snow White once more, she would remember exactly who he was. As would her dear Charming. The Prince had always distrusted him, even after all the help he had provided in their courtship. He would be less than impressed to find out that while he was playing at Sleeping Beauty, Rumpelstiltskin had been fulfilling his husbandly duties on his behalf.

On the whole, being thrashed by an outraged Prince did not rank highly on his to-do list.

Even as he neared town, he could see the chaos that magic had wrought. It was an unpredictable power at best, and in this world that went for so long without, it had run wild. A fire hydrant had burst into a fountain. Tiny plants nestled in cracks in the road had unfurled into broad-stemmed, towering flowers. Windows shimmered oddly like mirrors, where the magic had rebounded off them. Some of the roads had cracked open, revealing the networks of tunnels beneath.

Storybrooke definitely wasn't just a boring little backwater anymore.

Most of the buildings were intact, and he was glad to see that his shop had survived the worst. Magic had swarmed around it. He could feel it as he approached. The sheer quantity of treasures he had hoarded called out to it, and the handle of the door prickled and crackled beneath his hand as he entered.

It was dark, still.

The curse was broken and he had made a deal. 

He left his cane by the door and took a dagger from a shelf. He descended into the basement, unlocking the door.

Jefferson was huddled in the furthest corner and winced, averting his face from the light.

"Out," Rumpelstiltskin said. "Go. Find your child."

Jefferson stared at him in incomprehension. "You're letting me go." Rumpelstiltskin walked into the room unaided and Jefferson's eyes darted down to his leg, then back to his face. He looked shocked. "She did it?"

"In part," Rumpelstiltskin replied. He went down on his right knee. There was no pain at all. He reached behind Jefferson, severed his bonds, but before the man could rise, he put the knife to his throat. "Don't think that I'll forget what you did, dearie. I never forget a broken deal."

"Then why release me?"

Rumpelstiltskin rose and jerked the man to his feet, his hand tight around Jefferson's arm. "Because unlike you, I don't break my deals," he said, "and despite your interference, we both got what we wanted." He nodded towards the door. "Now get out. If I ever see you again, I will take the price of your treachery out on your hide, daughter or not."

Jefferson half-tripped, half-ran for the stairs. 

Rumpelstiltskin ran a hand over his face.

The search could begin in earnest now, a search that would allow him to look beyond the limits of Storybrooke.

He climbed the stairs easily. Any other day, being able to walk so freely would have delighted him, but now, other matters pressed in on his mind. He had his books, his charts, his notes, his atlases, and he only hoped they would be enough to lead the way. Bae was the reason for everything. Bae always would be. He couldn't stop to think of anything else now. 

He was poring over them some half hour later when the door of the shop opened.

His heart slammed against his ribs and he looked up. 

A woman was silhouetted in the doorway, and for a moment, a breathless, dizzying moment, he thought it was Belle.

She stepped into the shop.

"I thought I would find you here, Rumpelstiltskin," Snow White said.


	82. Chapter 82

Snow White had learned long ago never to judge a book by its cover.

She had made that mistake before, and had ended up on the run in the forest.

All the same, she always tried to think the best of people, even of Rumpelstiltskin. The trickster and imp had been a puzzle to her in the Fairytale lands. He always provided what people asked for, and she was no exception.

There were three occasions that she had approached him: once to remove the love she held for Charming, once to find a way to kill the Queen, and the final time was in a cell far below the mountains, where he was caged like a beast and told her all she needed to know.

She had asked him. He had provided.

He wasn’t an ally, but he wasn’t an enemy.

He was useful, but she had a feeling that as much use as they were getting out of him, he was getting tenfold out of them.

All the same, she could not believe that he had ever planned for what came when the curse struck, when Snow White was caged in a tiny cell in the back of the subconscious of a meek little lamb, when they were bound together in the ties of marriage.

Mr and Mrs Gold.

She had to speak to him, alone.

It had taken a little persuasion, but Charming understood why it had to be done, even if he didn’t look happy about it.

That was what led her to his shop. The curse had broken and magic had torn Storybrooke to pieces, but his shop was still standing. His shop. His fortress. His smaller, even more cluttered Dark Castle.

She stood in the doorway and looked at him. Cameron Gold. Rumpelstiltskin. The man who had been her husband for the past twenty-eight years. The memories weren’t all false. It was true they had been living in a bubble of time, but day by day, they had lived through nearly three decades together. That was nearly thirty times the length of her marriage to Charming.

That should have made the difference: it was Cameron Gold and Mary Margaret Blanchard who were married. It was not Snow White and Rumpelstiltskin. It should have been a simple matter of reverting back to their old lives, but Regina had been thorough. Regina had twisted them so neatly together that they were like two strands of a thread.

There were too many years of memories, of life, of living with one another. She had seen him vulnerable, breaking over a child she never knew he had. He had held her when she was hurt and weeping. No matter that the memories were in a false life, they were still there.

Rumpelstiltskin was sitting at the counter, surrounded by books, maps, pages. He laid down his pen. “I didn’t expect to see you here, de…” He snapped off the endearment before it could leave his lips, and she found herself folding her arms self-consciously. “Don’t you have a touching family reunion to attend?”

She walked closer, trying to hit the confident swagger she used in the forest. She was getting there, but little instances of Mary Margaret kept edging back in. The folded arms told her that much. “We need to talk.”

He rested his elbows on the counter and folded his hands together. He almost looked at ease, but she had watched him closely enough to see the way his hands were trembling. “So talk, Snow White.” He rolled her name around in a way she knew was meant to be mocking, but there was uncertainty there too.

He couldn’t be dealing with it, just like that.

It wasn’t that simple.

She walked closer to the counter, forced herself to unfold her arms, and braced her hands against the glass. “Your memories didn’t just come back today, did they?” she said, meeting his eyes, holding his gaze. It was a suspicion, nothing more, but she saw the way he caught his breath. “Honesty, Rumpelstiltskin. You told me the truth yesterday. I want nothing less than that now.”

His mouth twitched, almost a tired smile. “No,” he said. They didn’t come back today.”

Her fingers pressed against the glass a little harder. “When?” she asked.

He looked down at his hands and she spared them a glance. His knuckles were white, his fingers tightly knotted together. When she looked back up, he was watching her and carefully unfolded his hands, spreading them flat on his books. She could still see them shake.

“You’re a clever woman,” he said. “You’ve been thinking. You think you know exactly when they came back.”

She leaned a little closer. “I remember a cell,” she said quietly. “I remember a deal. I remember a name.”

One side of his mouth turned up and he looked both proud and exhausted. “Yes, yes,” he murmured. “Well done, dearie. Well done indeed. Your daughter was the key. Emma.” He closed his eyes and for a moment, he looked as he always did at the end of a trying day. “She let me loose. That, I’m afraid, is when Cameron Gold passed on.”

“The hell he did,” she said quietly.

His eyes opened and he looked at her. “I assure you he did.”

“And I’m calling you a liar,” Snow White retorted, her voice even. “You could have driven me to Charming with cruelty. You could have forced your hand. You could have done anything to us, but you didn’t. You took care of me and Emma too. You tended my wounds. You comforted me when I was hurt.” She leaned across the counter, eye to eye with him. “What was it you said, Cam? That’s the tragedy of it?”

He flinched as if she had struck him. “It was a false life,” he said, his voice brittle.

“But you still cared,” she replied quietly. She moved one of her hands to cover his on the book. “You and I. We’re in this together, Rumpelstiltskin. She broke both of us to pieces and played with us, of all the people in town. No one else.”

He looked at her hand over his. “It wasn’t real.”

“She planted the seed,” Snow White said softly. “But you can’t grow a relationship out of nothing. No matter how it started, you know we both lived that life. Cam… Rumpelstiltskin, whoever you are now, whatever we are, those people are still inside of us.”

He looked up at her, and for a moment, he looked lost, almost scared. “What are you asking me?” he said, his voice thin and drawn.

“I’m asking you to be Cam for me,” she replied, curling her fingers around his hand. Her own voice was breathless and a little shaken. “I know it’s ridiculous and I know we should let it go and get on with our lives, but I…” She wanted to swear, her eyes filling up with tears. “I don’t want to be without Cam. He was my friend and my support when things went to pieces.”

His eyes were bright too, and she could feel his hand shaking under hers. “You know who I am now, dearie,” he said. “What makes you think I can be Cameron Gold again?”

“Because you’re the same person,” she said. “You’ve been Cam and Rumpelstiltskin since the moment Emma walked into our lives and woke you up, and you…” She squeezed his hand. “You were the one person in this town who watched out for me.”

“Selfishly,” he whispered. “The curse. Just to break the curse.”

She shook her head. “If it was that simple, you would never have patched my cuts and wiped my tears.” She reached out her other hand and touched his cheek and he flinched as if expecting a blow. “You kept me and my child safe from Regina. You helped me find my true love. You never hurt me, even though you had every chance to.”

He lowered his head. “You give me too much credit.”

She leaned over the counter and rested her forehead to his. He didn’t pull away. “I give you all the credit you’re due,” she said quietly. “You’re a better man than you let yourself believe, and I know you can be that man again.”

A hot, trembling breath gusted against her wrist, and he caught her hand, holding it to his cheek. She could feel the heat of tears on her fingers and he turned his head and kissed her palm.

“Thank you, Mrs Gold,” he said, his voice breaking.


	83. Chapter 83

Rumpelstiltskin was shaken.

He never had imagined that Snow White would want to come anywhere near him after her memories returned, and yet, there she was, her hand around his, speaking to him as a friend, as an equal. He could have played the trickster, the dealer, the forest’s imp, but she knew him well.

They had been cursed, it was true, but the shape of who they really were had always been there.

She was examining the documents scattered across the counter and looked up at him with a frown. “Are you planning a trip?”

He hesitated and he knew immediately that was his mistake. “I thought it would be pleasant to see beyond the borders of Storybrooke,” he said. He hoped his voice sounded as dismissive as he tried to make it. “We’ve been stuck here quite long enough.”

She picked up one of the pages and studied it. “It looks like you’re trying to find something.”

Rumpelstiltskin rose from the stool behind the counter and started gathering the pages up. “Perhaps,” he said. “You know I have always had my secrets, dearie.”

“Maybe we can help,” she said.

Rumpelstiltskin stopped in his tracks, staring blankly at the pages in his hands. “Why would you do something like that?” he asked masking confusion with abruptness.

She circled around the counter to take the pages from his hands, arranging them together in a neat stack and setting them down. “If you’re my Cam,” she said, taking both his hands in hers, “that makes me your Mary Margaret, and your Mary Margaret would want to help you any way she could.” She squeezed his fingers, her hands soft and warm. “You don’t have to do this alone.”

He stared at her hands, holding his like he was worth her attention. To accept help was to make himself vulnerable. To make himself vulnerable meant he could be taken advantage of. To be taken advantage of could lead to making a deal he didn’t understand all over again.

And yet, it was Snow White - and Mary Margaret - looking back at him. It was the woman who had stood by him when he was accused of abduction, despite all the evidence piled against him. She was here now as well, when she had no reason to be, holding his hands and accepting him.

“Someone,” he said hoarsely. “I’m looking for someone.”

Snow White smiled. “Then you’re connected to the right family,” she said. “That’s Emma’s speciality.”

He looked at her, wary and afraid, but there was a flicker of hope there. He didn’t know the world outside but Emma Swan did. “She would help me find someone in the world?”

“It’s what she does,” Snow White replied. “My little one grew up to be a bounty hunter.” She shook her head with a rueful smile. “I don’t know where she got that from.”

“Thus spake the bandit,” Rumpelstiltskin observed wryly.

She released one of his hands to sock him on the arm, and she laughed. “Okay, that’s true.” She tugged on his other hand. “Will you let us help?”

He hesitated. “What’s your price?” he asked uncertainly.

She smiled. “No price,” she said. “Friends don’t ask for a price.”

It felt like it had to be a trick, but he knew Snow White just as he knew Mary Margaret Gold. She wasn’t a liar. She didn’t deceive or betray. She was the most honest and good person he knew, and she had called him her friend.

“Very well,” he said, hardly believing it when he said it.

To let someone else help him had never crossed his mind, not in all the years in the forest. He had been betrayed, abandoned, double-crossed, rejected too many times before, but this was Snow White. This was Mary Margaret Gold. If she said she would help him, he knew that she would.

He couldn’t help but add quietly, “Your Prince won’t be pleased.”

She smiled briefly. “My Prince knows me well enough to trust my judgement,” she said. “Now, come with me. We’re gathering everyone up to work out what to do. Regina is still loose and you know what she’s like better than anyone.”

He almost pulled his hand from hers. Everyone. “I hardly think I would be welcome.”

“I would welcome you,” she said, threading her fingers through his. “Come on, Mr Gold. We faced them together for nearly three decades. Don’t tell me you’re afraid of being seen with me now.” It was teasingly, but he could see that she knew he was uneasy. Her hand squeezed his comfortingly. She wanted him there, which was more than anyone had ever wanted of him before. “Will you come?”

If he was going to break all the rules he lived by, he decided, he might as well do it properly.

“Very well,” he said.

“Good.” She pulled on his hand and started towards the door. “For a moment there, I thought I was going to have to drag you.”

He couldn’t help laughing ruefully. “From this angle, it looks like that’s exactly what you’re doing.”

She threw a familiar look over her shoulder as they emerged into the street. “You’re just walking too slowly,” she said. She looked around, shaking her head at the chaos inflicted by his unleashed magic. “I guess it could look a lot worse.”

“Give it time,” Rumpelstiltskin warned quietly. “It’s settling, adjusting to this world.”

She glanced at him. “Is it dangerous?”

“No more than a gun in the wrong hands,” he replied.

She clasped his hand tightly. “I can’t help noticing you don’t look like yourself. I thought the magic would have turned you back.”

His lips twitched. “I was cursed there, dearie,” he said, knowing she had earned that little truth at least. “When we came here, the curse - any magic - was stripped from me. I’m only a man now.”

Her eyes darted to his face, and the curiosity and speculation in her expression made his stomach knot on itself. The age-old terror that had haunted him every moment of his life was still there, but he could not and would not let it rule him, not anymore.

“You’re not limping anymore.”

He made a flourishing gesture and a twist of shimmering magic coiled about his fingers, making her eyes widen. “Only a man,” he said, “but a man with the knowledge of the monster. Don’t doubt I can still touch the power, dearie. I’m not entirely useless.”

She snorted, more bandit than Princess. “Oh, I knew that already,” she said. “You’ve got a cunning little brain, Rumpelstiltskin.”

“Flattery, dearie?”

She made a face at him. “Observation.” She led him onwards through the town. “Is there anything else I should know? Anyone else we need to worry about, like the Hatter?”

Rumpelstiltskin hesitated. “The woodcarver,” he said. “His son was in this world.”

Snow White stopped dead. “Someone else made it through? How?”

Rumpelstiltskin knew it would bring a world of trouble down on Gepetto, and the man didn’t know it yet, but his act had cost him his son’s life and sanity. He didn’t need to suffer more than that, not with the world so newly turned. “I can’t be sure,” he said. “You met him briefly, when I was incarcerated. He tried to help Emma.”

“The crazy guy who tried to get her to move out?” Snow White shook her head. “I didn’t see him again after that.”

“No,” Rumpelstiltskin murmured. “You wouldn’t. The lack of magic in this world was too much. He reverted to that which he was.”

“Dead?” she asked quietly.

He hesitated. “Inanimate,” he murmured. “Fairies interfered in his life before. I have no doubt they will do so again.”

“I’ll let him know,” Snow White promised.

He drew her to a halt beside him. “Tell him that his son was brave,” he said. “He did all he could, but it wasn’t enough. Perhaps, that will be reason enough for the fairy to undo what has happened.”

A small smile touched her lips. “I’ll see what I can do,” she promised, leading him on.

He spotted the Prince ahead, waiting at the diner for them. Red and her Grandmother were there too, and Snow White’s face lit up in delight at the sight of the man who had been Leroy. She released Rumpelstiltskin’s hand and broke into a run.

“Grumpy!”

Rumpelstiltskin watched as she collided with her dwarf friend, who hoisted her off her feet, hugging her and laughing. There would be many such reunions before the day was out. He approached more cautiously, his eyes darting to the Prince, who had his arms folded.

“Snow told me what you did for us,” he said gruffly. “She said you protected her and our girl.” He shifted on his feet. “Brought us back together too.”

Rumpelstiltskin shrugged self-consciously. “It’s as I told you some time ago,” he said. “I’m a fan of true love, and what it creates.”

The Prince looked at him intently. “I remember,” he said. Abruptly, he unfolded his arms and held out a hand.

Rumpelstiltskin looked at it suspiciously, then at the Prince.

“Thank you,” Charming said. His lips twitched just a little and he turned his hand palm up. “This isn’t a threat.”

“It isn’t entirely expected either,” Rumpelstiltskin observed, “when facing the man who has been married to your wife for twenty-eight years.”

“Cursed years,” the Prince replied. “I know what Regina did to you both.” His hand remained extended. “Snow told me she thought you remembered before anyone else, and she said that from the moment you did, everything you did was to help us be together and to protect our child. For that, I want to thank you.” He gave Rumpelstiltskin an impatient look. “Now, are you going to shake my hand or do I have to get Snow over here to make you?”

“She would, wouldn’t she?” Rumpelstiltskin winced. All the same, he put out his hand and grasped the Prince’s.

He tried not to panic when he was jerked closer, and the Prince’s other hand clasped his shoulder. He had expected threats and violence, and for a moment, he was sure he was about to get it.

“You might want to go into the diner,” the Prince murmured. “Someone was looking for you.”

Rumpelstiltskin stared at him as he pulled back. “Were they armed?” he asked, feigning nonchalance, even though it felt like his heart was trying to break ribs.

The Shepherd turned Prince tried and failed to look conspiratorial. “I’d just get in there,” he said. “Don’t want anyone to slip through your fingers again.”

Rumpelstiltskin’s legs were trembling. The Prince was the only one who knew of that facet of his past, aside from Regina. Belle. She hadn’t been at the shop, but she was here? She was looking for him? And of all people, Prince Charming the farmboy had worked out who she was?

The Prince smiled, cuffing him on the shoulder. “Get in there, or I’ll threaten you with Snow again.”

On legs that felt like they were turning to mist, Rumpelstiltskin stumbled up the steps to the diner. It was crammed tight with people, including the Saviour herself and her boy. he was greedily wolfing down a pile of pancakes, clearly over his near-death experience.

His entrance didn’t go unnoticed, a dozen pairs of eyes turning to stare at him. The Saviour’s eyes narrowed, and he knew he’d have to explain about the theft of true love sooner or later, but now, he had more important business to attend to.

She was sitting on the stool at the far end of the counter, and she was looking at him. Her eyes were red, as if she had been crying, and she didn’t move at once.

He had let her walk away. Now he was the one who had to go to her.

Step after faltering step brought him closer.

“Belle,” he said breathlessly.

“I went to the shop,” she said, looking at him, her eyes swimming with tears. “You said I’d know where to find you. I went there, but you weren’t there.”

It would have been kinder if she had struck him.

“I only got there after magic returned,” he whispered. “Not after the curse. Dearie, I didn’t think you’d come back.”

She gave a small sob, sliding off the stool, and flung her arms around him. “Of course I was going to come back, you stupid man!”

He was so startled he couldn’t move for a moment, and all at once, he was holding her as tight as he could, breathing her in. “I love you,” he whispered against her ear. “I always did.”

She drew back enough to look him in the eyes, and she was smiling so brightly he was dazzled. “I know,” she said, taking his face in her hands and kissing him.


	84. Chapter 84

“How did you know?”

Charming looked down at Snow White with a crooked smile. “I’m not just a pretty face.”

She playfully knocked him on the nose. “Not even that sometimes,” she said, looking up into the diner where it seemed Rumpelstiltskin and the girl she had known as Isabelle French were going to have to be pried apart by wild horses, and failing that, industrial machinery.

“We talked, once,” Charming said. “He loved once. Really loved. Said she’d died.”

“And you figured it was her?”

Charming took her hand with a smile. “I saw them out in town once,” he said. “Before you kicked him out. I could see the way he looked at her, and when everything came back, the way she was found, how she’d been hidden, it only made sense. She was here when I came to find Red, and she asked if I’d seen him.” He shrugged. “Who else would be looking for Rumpelstiltskin?”

“Only the person who loved him,” she murmured, squeezing his hand.

“And his wife,” Charming said quietly. There was something in the way that he said it, an odd sadness. “I know it was all the curse, but you were married to him Snow. I know it’s going to stay with you.”

Snow White nodded, looking up at him. “Regina made damn sure of that,” she said. “I don’t know how, but she tried to turn everything I felt for you to him.” She rested her head on his shoulder. “It didn’t work. Not for me. Not for him. We never loved each other.”

Her husband - the real one - wrapped his arms around her. “I know,” he said, “But you didn’t hate each other either.”

Snow White breathed in, then out. “He was my friend,” she admitted quietly, “and under all that giggles and magic and deals, I know he’ll always be Cameron Gold as well. That was a part of him before the curse, and it’s still a part of him now. Just like Mary Margaret was part of me.”

To her surprise, Charming snorted. “You? Mary Margaret? Were you ever that meek?”

She looked up at him indignantly. “I’ll have you know I was a mild and virtuous Princess until I met you.”

His eyes were dancing with a returning sparkle of mirth. “You mean the first time we met I corrupted you? When you were robbing me? And hitting me with rocks?”

She feigned consideration. “Sounds about right.”

“Gods, I love you,” he said, lifting his hand to stroke her cheek. She rose on her toes to kiss him again, happy.

“You guys are still at it?”

Snow White couldn’t help blushing at their daughter’s words, and gently disengaged from Charming’s arms. “Well, last time I saw him before today, he had been slashed to shreds by Regina’s men, so yeah. I need to make sure he’s in one piece.”

“Well, I think you’ve done a pretty extensive archaeological survey to check his mouth, so unless you have any doubts about that, can I interrupt?” Emma said dryly, but Snow White couldn’t help notice that bold, brash Emma who never got flustered was scuffing her feet and blushing like a child.

“We’ll have time enough later,” Charming said, opening his arms to let Snow White loose.

“Oh God…” Emma groaned, burying her face in her hand.

“Emma, you know we’ve been seeing each other for months,” Snow White said, laughing helplessly.

“Yeah, well, you weren’t my parents then,” she replied, glancing at them nervously as if she expected to be laughed at for using the word. Their poor girl was so shaken up by it all that even offering to let her call them mother and father had left her avoiding eye-contact and muttering that yeah, maybe, it would be okay.

Snow White took pity on her, stepping closer and looping her arm through Emma’s. “So what’s worrying you?” Emma looked at her uncertainly. “Emma, you’ve been living with me for months. You think I can’t tell when you’re worried?”

Emma nodded. “Gold,” she said. “what’s the deal with him? Is he a good guy or bad guy?”

Snow White winced. “I think the best way to describe him is ambiguous,” she said.

“So it’s okay if I kick his ass for stealing the potion I fought that dragon for?”

Charming laughed. “I like the way you think,” he said.

“You’re definitely your father’s daughter,” Snow White agreed. “But no ass-kicking just now. He knew you didn’t need the potion.”

“Okay, so downgrade ass-kicking because he sent me to fight a dragon for no reason?” Emma said hopefully. “Don’t get me wrong, I like Gold, but it was a dragon, and let me tell you those things don’t go down easy.”

“Uh.” Charming raised a hand. “Killed one. Put the love potion in the other. Put a massive egg of love potion in a dragon and then you can tell me how tough they are.”

“Hey, I took your love-potioned dragon and killed it,” Emma said indignantly, but she was fighting an awkward smile.

Snow White had a feeling that it would be easier for her and Emma to get on than Emma and Charming, simply because of the whole David Nolan affair, but they were too alike not to find common ground.

Charming leaned closer. “I bet I can do something you can’t,” he said.

“Oh yeah?” Emma put her hands on her hips. “What’s that?”

“Shear a sheep in under a minute with hand clippers.”

Emma blinked at him. “Wait, what?”

“Told you,” Charming said smugly. “I’m a man of many skills. Dragon-slaying and sheep-shearing. Not exactly complimentary, but both very useful.”

“Ignore him,” Snow White said, elbowing him in the side. “And still no on the ass-kicking, if you don’t mind. We might need his help to go against Regina.” She looked around. “I think it’s about time we asked who is willing to fight.”

“You think there’s anyone who won’t want to help? After everything?” Emma asked.

Snow White smiled briefly. Emma was such a modern-world woman. Not everyone from the forest would think the same way. “We still have to give them the choice,” she said. “That’s why we’re the good guys.”


	85. Chapter 85

They were being stared at, but that came as no surprise.

Belle, brave as she ever had been, slipped an arm around his waist and looked around the diner with daring defiance. Rumpelstiltskin couldn’t imagine that it was possible to love her more than he already did, but she seemed intent on proving him wrong.

A voice called outside, and they all filtered out into the street, though Rumpelstiltskin held Belle back. It meant that while the rest of the crowd milled below, they could stand on the top step and she would be able to see what was going on.

Snow White and her husband were at the centre of the spreading crowd. Emma was self-consciously standing near them and Henry was at her side, grinning. Snow White raised her hands, and a silence spread out like ripples from a stone dropped in a still pool.

“You all know that twenty-eight years ago, the Queen cast a curse, and that curse is why we are all here today,” she said, her voice carrying loud and clear. “I know many of you want to find your families, your loved ones, and I understand if you do not want to risk the Queen’s wrath so soon, but the fact of the matter is this: the Queen is still free. We are not home. We are in a world that we both know and don’t know, and now, she will be powerful again.”

A hushed murmur ran through the crowd. They were afraid. After the sheer force of the curse, after she had destroyed the world they knew, it wasn’t surprising. A coward knew how to recognise the whisper of trepidation.

“If you wish to find shelter or refuge, you will not be ill thought of,” the Prince added his voice to his wife’s. “We know that this is not your battle, and we won’t ask you to fight alongside us, not unless you want to.”

Rumpelstiltskin released Belle’s hand. “I will stand with you,” he said, moving forward on the step.

“You?” The voice was a familiar one, and he didn’t even need to look to recognise the Blue Fairy’s dulcet tones. “The Dark One?”

Rumpelstiltskin smiled. “Dark One I was,” he agreed, “but I know you have looked hard at me, dearie, and I know you see me as every other man and woman here sees me. I have more than enough reason to want to stand by Snow White.” He looked across the crowd at Snow White. “Will you have me, your Majesty?”

She smiled. “You will stand at our right hand, Rumpelstiltskin,” she said.

“Snow,” Grumpy said urgently. “You can’t trust him. Remember the potion?”

She looked at her friend. “I remember everything,” she said simply, and such significance hung on the words that silence fell. “Rumpelstiltskin has as many reasons as I do for going to battle against the Queen.” Her eyes flicked to Belle. “Perhaps more.”

He spread his hands and bowed extravagantly. “Remember the curse, children,” he said. “She didn’t just take the happiness of Princess and her Prince. Before it was even cast, she took mine.” He bared his teeth in a dark little smile. “Took her, hid her, and spread word that she was long dead, tortured for her association with me, dead because of me.” He fixed his eyes on the Blue Fairy, pleased to notice the shock on her features. “If you don’t trust in me, trust in my hatred.”

Belle stepped alongside him, slipping her hand into his. “I’ll stand too,” she said. “I don’t know much about fighting or war, but I know that the Queen shouldn’t have the right to do what she has done to anyone.” She looked around. “Don’t forget what has been taken from you. Or forced upon you.” She subsided, her cheeks reddening, and lowered her eyes.

More voices rose in support and agreement.

Rumpelstiltskin squeezed Belle’s hand. “Bravely done, dearie,” he murmured.

She laughed shakily. “You know me,” she said. “I wish bravery would hurry up and catch up, though.”

In the end, only a handful of people retreated. Those with children were excused if they wished to be with their families, but most of those people were the ones who were more determined than ever to fight. So many families had been shattered by the curse, now they wanted to fight together to bring their world back.

The magic wielders gathered together, though Rumpelstiltskin noticed that they didn’t even consider inviting him to join them. They would have to find new ways to manage the magic that they had used so easily in the Enchanted forest, and he had no doubt they didn’t want him to see their vulnerabilities as they learned anew.

The one comfort was that Regina would have to find a balance to the power in this world as well. It didn’t come easily. This world was too heavy with reality and cynicism, thick with it, and that made it more difficult to bend magic. The doubts of a lifetime without would only put further blocks in the way.

The wolf girl was set to trailing the Queen, while Granny headed immediately for the local gun store to stock up on weapons and ammunition. Several of the soldiers went with her to bring back supplies. Where magic might falter, a bullet wouldn’t.

Much of the day was putting together a roll call of all those who had made themselves known. Rumpelstiltskin was pleased to see the woman who had once been Kathryn talking to Snow’s Prince, a handsome Knight standing at her side. Charming and the man - Frederick? - shook hands briefly.

Dozens of familiar faces came and went, and as the day progressed, the more armed and prepared they were. Swords were found in wardrobes that people didn’t know they had. The dwarves axes were found safely stashed under Grumpy’s trailer. Rumpelstiltskin even opened his shop doors to let people retrieve possessions they had thought long lost.

It was the breath before the battle, the start of the end, and as night fell, people retreated to their homes.

He and Snow White met outside of his shop. Charming was standing a short distance away with Emma and Henry. Rumpelstiltskin gently suggested that Belle joined them. The look on Snow’s face told him this was a conversation she wanted to have with him alone.

“How bad will this get?” she asked. Her hands were thrust deep into her pockets.

He looked back at her. “She killed her father to curse a whole world to hurt you,” he said. “I think you already know the answer to that question.” He nodded in the direction of her family. “And now, you have the one thing she does love.”

Snow White’s face paled, but she nodded grimly. “I thought that might be the case,” she said. “I saw her when they arrived at the hospital. You can’t fake that kind of emotion.” She withdrew a hand from her pocket and ran it over her face. “Can we win?”

“I believe so,” he murmured, “But you and yours must be protected.” He stepped closer to her, meeting her eyes. “I have little, but I can protect one place. Let me make the Gold house into our stronghold. You and yours and me and mine.”

She stared at him for a long moment. “The Pink Palace?”

“It has room enough for a dozen,” he said. “And neither you nor he have any other place in Storybrooke.”

She looked over her shoulder at Charming. “You’re right,” she said, then looked back at him, a small, tired smile crossing her lips. “And it’ll be better to live with someone who already knows how I take my eggs. Charming is many things, but a cook isn’t one of them.”

Rumpelstiltskin wrinkled his nose. “I said I would protect you, dearie,” he said. “I didn’t say I was going to make breakfast every morning.”

“No, you didn’t,” she agreed, reaching out and taking his hand. “But you will anyway.”

He couldn’t help smile ruefully. “As long as you make dinner,” he proposed.

“Sounds fair,” she agreed. She squeezed his fingers. “Come on. We should break the news.”

The Prince took the news with more grace than Rumpelstiltskin had expected, and Henry looked delighted at the thought of living with not just his mother, but his grandparents and Rumpelstiltskin as well.

The house was empty when they got back, no sign of any assault or invasion.

Snow White led her family inside, and Rumpelstiltskin paused on the step with Belle.

“I know this isn’t quite the reunion you had in mind,” she said.

“Asking you to live with the woman Regina married me to for nearly thirty years, along with her husband, child and grandchild?” he said with a rueful smile. “It is a little bit busier than I would like.”

“You’re protecting them,” she said with a small smile. “It’s very brave of you. You know how much the Queen wants them.”

“She’s had enough of their lives,” Rumpelstiltskin said firmly. “She isn’t getting a moment more.” He gently ushered her onto the step, then drew a small blade from his pocket and nicked his finger, drawing a drop of blood.

“What are you doing?” Belle asked, alarmed.

He smiled, letting a single drop fall on the bottommost step. “Locking the door and keeping the monsters at bay,” he said.

He could see the magic flicker and crackle around the drop, and he heard Belle’s indrawn breath and knew she was seeing it to. Light crawled up the steps, over the railings, curling up the walls, tracing along windows. It shimmered and whispered in purples and blues, wrapping the house in the strongest protection he could give.

Belle offered him her hand and he took it, ascending the stairs with her. “Will it be enough?” she asked quietly.

“For all of us? Yes.” He drew her closer to him. “I won’t let her take you again.”

She squeezed his hand. “This is just the beginning,” she murmured. “It feels like it did when the ogres were sighted, before I ever met you. There’s something in the air. Like we’re just waiting for something to happen.”

“Everything is only ever a beginning,” Rumpelstiltskin said, looking at her. She was with him and he felt braver than he had for a long time. “Once this is all done, there’s someone I want to take you to meet.”

“Oh?” she asked, as he opened the front door to let her in.

He nodded. “I still owe you a story,” he said. “Let me tell you about my son.”


End file.
